


Everyone Leaves.. But You

by RedHummingbird



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Graphic Description, Post-Canon, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHummingbird/pseuds/RedHummingbird
Summary: What if Miles' injury in Bradbury turned out to be fatal, leaving only Charlie and Bass alive? How would they cope? What would they do?First chapter roughly based on the final comics, the rest a work of fiction.Work in progress.
Relationships: Charlie Matheson & Bass Monroe
Comments: 31
Kudos: 38





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I thought finishing "How She Came To Love Him" would get these characters out of my head, but it hasn't! So I'm going to have a go at writing a different kind of story for them both. Would welcome any and all suggestions or comments, because while I have a vague storyline planned out, I am just going to see where this goes.

_"_ MILES!" Charlie screamed. She watched, horrified, as Truman drew his arm up and plunged his knife into Miles' back. She was too far away to do anything but scream Miles' name again and again as he dropped to the ground. "MILES!"

Bass whipped his head around to see what she was screaming at, while slicing through yet another nano-drone. As he saw Miles fall, he bellowed, "Fall back! NOW!" He was already in shock from discovering that Neville had dragged his son Connor into the strange nano-world of Bradbury, turning him into one of the drones. Seeing his best friend, his brother Miles, slumped on the ground and bleeding heavily, was almost too much to bear. Thankfully, Rachel appeared not to have noticed the attack on her beloved Miles, as she sprinted past Bass towards the alleyway. Bass knew that down that alleyway, hidden behind a large van, Aaron was frantically typing on a laptop with Priscilla anxiously hovering at his shoulder, as they tried to infect the nano with a virus.

Bass grabbed Miles by the shoulders and dragged him in the same direction, while Charlie provided cover with arrow after arrow. He couldn't tell if Miles was alive or not; all he could see was the blood seeping out of him. As he pulled Miles behind the cover of the van, Rachel looked on in horror. She fell on her knees beside Miles' still form, frantically looking him over to find the wound. "Aaron, what's happening?!" Bass demanded frantically, so overwhelmed with the situation that he didn't even have the capacity to come up with a nickname. Aaron didn't look up, but muttered, "almost got i-"

Distracted by his brother dying in front of him while Aaron frantically tried to stop the nano, Bass didn't even notice that Truman had stepped into the alleyway. All he saw were the rounds from Truman's automatic weapon, tearing first through the laptop that Aaron was working on, and then through Aaron and Priscilla themselves. Their bodies hit the ground in tandem, and Bass knew immediately that they were both dead. "Charlie!" he shouted, and when she spun around and took in the scene, her face contorted. "Aaron!" she screamed, and came running.

"Oh God," Rachel sobbed, as she desperately tried to stop the blood weeping from Miles' shoulder, while glancing over at the bodies. Miles' eyelids flickered open, and he coughed, trying to sit himself up, but failing.

Bass got to his feet. "Fuck you," he snarled, and shoved his sword brutally into Truman's chest, hitting his heart and killing him instantly. Bass withdrew his sword and let the body fall to the ground, then kicked it for good measure.

Charlie stood over Aaron's body, a look of devastation on her face. She had seen people that she loved die in front of her before, of course. Her father, Danny, Jason. Somehow this was worse. He wasn't family, but he was more than that. More than family. She wished she could take solace in the fact that he had died alongside his wife, but that didn't help at all.

"Charlie-" Miles croaked. Charlie turned to look down at him, tears running down her face. "Miles, we-"

He interjected weakly. "Cry later. Let's move." Bass nodded, walking over and picking Miles up in his arms. "Down the alley. Run."

Charlie jogged in front of him, still sobbing. "Miles..." She looked up, and panic crossed her face. "There's nowhere left to go." They had reached a dead end. A corrugated iron fence rose up in front of them, topped with jagged barbed wire. 

Bass placed Miles on the ground, leaning him against the wall. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, at least for now. They stared at each other for a long moment, knowing looks on their faces, then Bass straightened up, looking at Rachel and Charlie. "OK. Plan B time, folks. They're getting serious. What have we got?"

Miles coughed wetly. "I'm thinking."

Charlie looked back at Bass desperately. "There's too many of them. We can't kill all these people. " Bass knew she was right, but he refused to give up.

"We can sure as hell try," Miles grunted. Bass couldn't help but roll his eyes. His brother was half dead, what help was he going to be?!

Rachel had been staring silently into space for a moment, clearly thinking, but suddenly looked down at Miles. "No." She lifted her chin, and looked almost apologetically at Bass and then Charlie, in turn. "There's nothing else **you** can do. I'm sorry."

Bass narrowed his eyes. Rachel was clearly implying that while they were out of options, she could do something to help - but what? They had lost the laptop. Charlie stepped up to stand in front of her, and shook her head. "Mom, we can't-"

Rachel cut her off, repeating, "I'm **sorry** , Charlie. For the Blackout. For everything that happened after it. For being a truly horrible mother." She shook her head, sadly. "At every turn, I honestly thought I was doing the right thing."

She reached up and cupped Charlie's face with her hands. The two beautiful blonde women stared mutely at each other for a moment, and then Rachel explained, "I thought I was choosing family, but I was just being selfish. Danny was so sick and fragile, I couldn't bear the thought of losing him..." For a moment, Rachel's voice broke, and her face crumpled, but she gathered herself and continued, "So I made a deal with the devil. And just kept making new deals with new devils." Her face hardened. "But that stops right now."

Bass didn't want to be that guy; he could see this was an important mother-daughter moment. But as he looked back towards where they had left the nano-drones, he could see them getting closer. "This is all very _Days of Our Lives_ , but we're about to get tsunami'd here." He couldn't help the quip. It's just who he was.

Rachel glared at him, and then turned back to her daughter. "Charlie, you're the most important thing in my life, but I have to accept the fact that our family will never be safe in the world I created. I only have one choice." Rachel leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her tightly while tears streamed down her face. "And the choice is simple." She let go of Charlie, and then leaned down to Miles and kissed him hard on the mouth. Charlie just stood there, unsure what was happening. 

Rachel drew back from Miles, who smiled weakly up at her. "I love you, Miles," she told him. "Take care of our daughter." Miles and Charlie could only stare at her in stupefaction as her revelation sunk in. A strange look crossed Rachel's face; then she tore the pendant from her neck and dropped it on the ground. She placed her boot on the silver teardrop and ground her heel down on it hard, cracking it in the process.

Miles and Charlie both realised at the same time that she had made the decision to sacrifice herself, and they finally found their voices. "Rachel!" Miles cried helplessly, knowing he would not be able to physically stop her. "Mom, wait! You don't have to-" Charlie's voice trailed away as she knew that she would not change her mother's mind.

Rachel smiled at them both, nodded at Bass, and strode determinedly towards the nano-drones. As she reached them, she shouted, "Come and take me! You understand? I give myself to you!"

Bass, Charlie, and Miles watched open-mouthed as Rachel surrendered to the nano-drones. They saw her body stiffen, her face glaze over. They knew she must have a plan, but they didn't know what to expect. Miles pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, and weakly pulled his sword from his scabbard, although he looked as if a strong breeze would knock him over. As the nano-tech continued its assault on Rachel's mind, Charlie readied her crossbow and looked steadily at Bass. Their eyes met, and held for a long moment. They both knew that Miles wouldn't manage much longer; he had lost too much blood. It was up to them to save themselves. 

The nano-drones advanced toward them. Miles tried to lift his sword up, but he couldn't; it was too heavy, and he was quickly losing energy. He dropped it, and leaned back against the wall, pulling his handgun from his back waistband instead. He checked the magazine, nodding when he saw it was full. "Come eat lead, motherfuckers," he wheezed. Charlie grinned back at him, and cocked and loaded her crossbow, staring defiantly at the advancing masses. Bass took a deep breath, readying his swords. He would protect Miles and Charlie for as long as he could. 

The drones continued their inexorable approach. Charlie let fly one arrow, then another. Miles fired his gun. Bass moved forward, swords at the ready, and as the first drone got within range, he slashed at them fiercely. The bodies of the drones they had hit dropped to the ground, but the others continued around the corpses, still moving forward, knives and swords at the ready. Just as it seemed the three fighterse would be overwhelmed, the drones seemed to pause. Almost exactly in unison, they each exhaled a massive breath; their bodies trembled and shuddered, and then fell to the ground.

Bass, Charlie, and Miles watched open-mouthed as the entire wave of possessed people dropped in front of them, and were still. At the same time, the street lights sparked and then died. The three of them watch as the power disappeared.

"What the fuck?" Bass asked out loud, not expecting an answer. Charlie stared out at the scattered bodies, and just mutely shook her head. She guessed her mother must have saved them, but she had no idea how. She would never know, as there was no-one left who could have worked out Rachels' game plan, but she was right; her mother had come through for them after all. Rachel had memorised the virus that Aaron had tried to give the nano, and delivered it by memory to the nano in her head. Her mind was the delivery system and the virus was the payload. 

Miles suddenly slumped back against the wall, and slid to the ground. "Thank God. I couldn't-" and then he passed out. Charlie rushed to his side.

Bass strode forward and starting looking through the bodies. "Connor?" he called frantically. "Connor?" 

"You'll be okay," Charlie told the unconscious Miles. "You have to be, Miles. I love you. I love you- Dad." The word felt strange in her mouth, but it felt right. It made sense to her, that Miles was her father. She had struggled to see similarities between quiet, mild-mannered Ben and herself. She loved him, of course, and he would always be her dad. But now she had Miles, and he was her dad too. So he had to be okay.

"CONNOR!" Bass bellowed, seeing his son lying still at his feet. He bent over, shaking his son by the shoulders, but there was no response. He held his fingers against the boy's neck, searching for a pulse. He felt one, but it was weak, and slow - too slow. He shook his head in quiet desperation. He slumped to the ground, and gathered Connor's body in his arms. "Wake up, son. Wake up." He felt the tears come to his eyes. Not his son. His only son. They hadn't had nearly enough time together. He had to wake up.

Charlie and Bass sat next to their respective loved ones for several minutes, crying quietly, occasionally muttering to the still bodies. Eventually Bass stood, lifting his son's body up in his arms. He carried the boy over to where Charlie was sitting with Miles. She looked up at him. "Is he dead? Are they all dead?" He knew she was asking about her mother. 

"No," he said, but then his face crumpled up. "But soon, maybe. He has a heartbeat, but it's too weak, too slow." He laid Connor gently on the ground, and sat down next to Charlie, between Miles and Connor. He stroked his son's hair gently, and then looked up at Charlie. She looked ready to fall apart at any second. "I'll go get your mom." She half-smiled at him, and then reached out and took Connor's hand. 

He strode back into the street, and spotted Rachel easily, thanks to her distinctive golden hair. He checked her pulse; it felt the same as Connor's, maybe even a little weaker. He picked her up and carried her back to Charlie. He laid her body down, and then moved Aaron and Priscilla closer to them too. He felt that they should all be together right now, even in death. 

Bass and Charlie sat there for the next few hours, while Miles slept, and his face lost colour; and Rachel's and Connor's heartbeats got weaker and weaker. There was nothing anyone could do; they just sat quietly, and hoped.

At one point, Miles woke up, coughing hard into his sleeve. As he dropped his arm back down, Bass could see fresh blood on the fabric. He knew that was a bad sign, and judging by the resigned look on Miles' face, he knew too. Charlie didn't seem to notice, searching her bag and pulling out a canteen. "Miles, drink this," she instructed him. He humoured her, and tried to take a sip from the bottle, but immediately started coughing again. Her face dropped as she realised what a bad state he was in. "Miles," she cried. "You need to be okay. I love you."

Miles nodded, trying to prop himself up but wincing at the attempt. "I know you do, kid. I love you too." He took a couple of breaths. "You are the reason I'm okay. You're what saved me from myself." He coughed again. "I couldn't have asked for a more incredible daughter."

Charlie smiled through her tears. "You're not a bad guy yourself." He smiled, and she added, "I need more time with you. Hold on, okay?" 

Bass leaned over and put his hand on Miles' shoulder. "She's right, you know."

Miles grimaced at him. "What's with you? You don't do soppy."

Bass shook his head, and chuckled. "Geez, I'm sorry, brother. How dare I give you a mild compliment."

Miles smirked, and then a look of exhaustion crossed his face, and his eyes closed momentarily. He blinked slowly a couple of times, then opened his eyes and turned his head slowly to Bass. They both knew he didn't have much time left. "Bass," Miles wheezed. 

"You're alright, Miles. We don't have to talk," Bass assured him. 

Miles frowned slightly, blinking again, and then focussing on Bass. "Shut up. Listen." Bass nodded, waiting silently. "Charlie. Take- take care of her." Each word seemed to be more of an effort. "She's the best-" he attempted another cough, but was too weak. He cleared his throat a little, and then tried to speak again. "The best thing... I ever... did." Charlie's tears flowed freely, and she wrapped her arms around Miles, resting her head on his chest. 

Bass looked his brother straight in the eye. "I swear, Miles. I will." 

Miles lips twitched. "Maybe she'll... save.. you too." His eyes closed, and then flickered open, and closed again for a few seconds. Charlie let out a loud sob, and then leant and up kissed his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, but it didn't seem like he could see. His mouth dropped open, and then with what seemed to be his last ounces of energy, he breathed almost inaudibly, "Love.. you." 

He let out a final sigh, and then his body stilled. 

Bass's heart was already hurting, and at that moment, it felt like it had cleaved cleanly in half. He pulled Connor's body into his arms, and hugged him tightly, crying openly into his hair. Charlie was lost in sadness over Miles. After a while, she let go of him; she looked down at his face for a moment, and gently closed his eyelids. Then she moved over to her mother's body, also lying still. Rachel and Connor were both in their death throes, both hardly breathing, the pulse barely distinguishable. Charlie lifted her mother's head into her lap, and stroked her hair, as Bass held his son tightly.

Within the hour, both were gone.

Charlie and Bass were officially alone in the world, with literally no-one and nothing but each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that got kinda sad. And it's not going to get better for a while! 
> 
> I expect I'll probably have the next chapter up in a few days time.


	2. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Bass deal with their loss the best they can.

As the sun set, Charlie started to shiver, and her teeth chattered a little. The noise distracted Bass from his reverie, and he looked up to realise that it was getting dark, and that they were surrounded by a hundred or more corpses. He had seen enough zombie movies in his time to not be okay with this scenario. "Double tap," he murmured almost inaudibly, and Charlie glanced over at him. "What?" she asked wearily.

"...Never mind. Look, we need to find somewhere safe to spend the night," Bass declared. "Just in case the nano manage some freaky reanimation shit while we are sleeping, or something. I really don't want to wake up to all of these-" he waved vaguely at the bodies around them, "closing in on us to eat our brains."

"Why would they want to eat our brains?" Charlie asked, perplexed. Bass ignored the question. He looked down at Connor's body, and took his son’s head in his hands, and gently moved it to the ground. Then he got up, stretching his arms out high and wide, as the reality of sitting in the same position for several hours caught up with him. He looked down at Charlie, who was still sitting on the ground and holding Miles' cold hand in hers, staring up at him with grief written all over her face.

"Come on, Charlie," he coaxed, not unkindly.

She slowly nodded, and pushed herself up to stand in front of him. "Now what?"

He glanced around quickly, and spotted a building on the other side of the street that looked like it could be an apartment building. "Maybe there?" He suggested. She nodded, and the two of them picked up their weapons, holding them at the ready. There was no indication that there was anyone left alive anywhere in town, but years of experience had taught them both that they couldn't be too careful.

They made their way to the building, and stepped inside. Bass's initial assessment proved correct, as they found a neat and tidy two bedroom apartment on the ground floor. Bass shook his head, and said in wonder, "It's like going back in time. There's a vacuum cleaner, for God's sake." Charlie looked where he pointed. She vaguely remembered the machine; her mother had owned a similar one and often pushed it around the house. It made a loud noise, and Charlie recalled telling her mother to be quiet and to put the machine away, because she and Danny were trying to watch cartoons. As she tried to see the memory more clearly, to fix the images of her brother and mother in her mind, Bass moved carefully around the apartment. She heard him sigh, and looked up at him; she could see on his face that he wasn't happy for them to stay there. She raised an eyebrow, as she couldn't see a problem, although she knew she wasn't thinking straight. Grief did that to a person. Bass responded, "Upstairs will be more secure," and strode out of the apartment door back into the hallway and disappeared up the stairs. She followed him meekly; she didn't have the energy to argue, not that she disagreed with his assessment.

He stopped at the third floor, and nodded in approval as he inspected the open door to the apartment. "Deadbolt," he commented, and held out his arm for Charlie to go inside. She walked past him and into the room, marvelling at how clean and neat it all was. It was a little shabby, but given it had likely sat empty for a decade or more, it was in very good condition. She explored the apartment, finding two double bedrooms. She wanted to fall onto the first bed she saw, but she figured she probably wouldn't get up again if she did, and her stomach was growling. She had no interest in eating, but the time she had spent with Miles and Bass had taught her to eat when she could. If the bodies did somehow turn up attempting to eat their brains, although she still didn't know why they would, she would need her energy. 

She put her bag and crossbow down in the second bedroom, which appeared to have belonged at some point to a girl - perhaps a teenager, judging by the decor. There were faded posters of attractive young men standing in groups, looking seriously and soulfully at the camera. The furniture was all white, and matching - a dresser, a desk, a bedside table, and the bedframe. A worn teddybear sat against several pillows on the bed, which had a floral bedspread and soft pink sheets. Looking around, Charlie was reminded a little of her bedroom in Sylvania Estates. She didn't have the posters, but she had the teddybear. She smiled gently as she recalled him; Edward, his name was, and he had been through the wars. He was missing an eye, and his fur was burned off in a couple of places where she had left him too near the fire at night, but he was her favourite toy, and she had still cuddled him occasionally. Not that she would have ever admitted that to Danny, who liked to tease her about him. She knew he still had his blanky in a drawer, that he used to suck on as a kid as they pulled him along in the little trolley, so he didn't have a leg to stand on. She wondered if Edward was still there, waiting patiently at Sylvania Estates for her to return. She couldn't imagine going back there. No Dad, no Maggie. No Aaron. Her eyes filled with tears at the reminder that Aaron was dead; that his body lay outside, next to his wife's, alongside everyone else she had left in the world. 

A cough from the kitchen reminded her that she did have one person left. Of course, of everyone that it could have been, it had to be Monroe. She already knew she wasn't exactly the luckiest person in the world, but the way things had ended up here seemed almost too cruel. He would probably want to ditch her. She was surprised he hadn't done it already. They didn't even like each other - although even as she thought that, she knew it was untrue. They had come a long way from the people they were when they were tied up together in that old swimming pool.

It hadn't been an easy journey, she thought, as she crept from her new bedroom towards the kitchen, and watched Monroe quietly as he looked through the kitchen cupboards for food. Travelling together had been okay. She had been surprised at how upset she felt when he was executed, and then surprised again when Rachel saved him, supposedly for her. She wondered why it was that time, of all the times she had argued with her mother, that the arguing had worked; that it had convinced Rachel to keep Monroe alive. Regardless, it had, and she remembered feeling like they had some kind of connection - especially that day in the school, when he had come back for her. She realised later that it was all because of his desire to find his son, and her face darkened as she recalled how Monroe had reverted to his old self, the more time he spent with Connor. Watching him now, seeing his immense grief for his son clearly visible on his face, she wondered why he had ever fallen out with the boy. She knew Monroe had gone against Connor's wishes because he was trying to regain Miles' forgiveness and trust, but he had obviously paid a heavy price. He never let on, though, at least not to her.

They had fought side by side for a year after that, working with the Texans to take down the Patriots. Her, Miles, and Monroe, the dream team, all the way to the White House. She had learned so much from them both, and Miles had recently told her that she was as good a fighter as anyone else he had ever seen, which had filled her with immense pride. They had gotten used to each other, Miles and Monroe falling back into their easy camaraderie, but this time Charlie was there to keep them in check. They had all got along just fine, and Charlie was happy enough, as happy as anyone was these days at least. Until that fateful day when Rachel, Aaron, and Priscilla had found them…

“Hungry?” Bass’s soft voice intruded on her thoughts.

“I guess,” she shrugged. He nodded, and passed her over a bowl containing what looked to be some kind of beans mixed with some kind of vegetable. She didn’t really care. She took the bowl, sat down at the table, and started spooning the food methodically into her mouth. Bass did the same, although at speed. When he finished, he put the bowl down with a clatter, and said, “Shame that the power didn’t stay on for a bit. I could have cooked a proper meal. We could have had hot showers.”

Charlie didn’t respond. It made no difference to her; she didn’t remember hot showers, and she was well used to eating whatever she could get. Bass saw her indifference, and sighed. He missed Miles already. A world without Miles was… unfathomable. He didn’t allow himself to think too long about that. He had a lot of things tucked away inside that he didn’t allow himself to think about the vast majority of the time. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to function.

He had seen Charlie claim one of the bedrooms, so he picked up his stuff and took it into the other one. This was clearly the master bedroom, so it suited him. It was done up in tasteful navy and white, the white a little discoloured from age, but generally in good nick. Bass was looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed again. A real bed… what a luxury. He was definitely disappointed in the lost opportunity to have a hot shower. He looked down at himself and realised he was filthy, with streaks of dirt and spatters of blood all over both his clothes and his skin. He grimaced. He didn’t want to dirty the beautifully clean sheets… but he was so, so tired. He knew Charlie would be too.

He could hear her sitting in the kitchen, finishing up her meal. He didn’t know what to say to her. Nothing was going to help, he knew that. She was stuck with him, probably her least favourite person in the world. She would probably want to split up, go her own way, but Bass had already decided he wouldn’t let her – not yet, anyway. Miles had asked him to take care of her, and so he would. He couldn’t break his promise to his brother. And it’s not like he had anything else left, anyway. He had literally nothing else to live for. His family was dead. His wife, Emma, his kids, all dead. His brother, dead. Even Rachel, Aaron, Priscilla; he may not have understood them very well, and he wasn’t exactly Rachel’s biggest fan, but it still hurt his heart knowing that they were dead too.

If Charlie wasn’t still around, he would probably repeat that night in the cemetery with the bottle of whisky and the gun, except this time Miles wouldn’t be around to talk him out of it. He remembered Miles’ last sentence to him – _maybe she will save you too_. Perhaps he was thinking of that night, knowing how Bass handled the death of his loved ones. Miles saved him once, now Charlie would save him. But would she? Bass doubted it. He acknowledged to himself that things were better between them than they once were; that the three of them – her, Miles, and himself – made a good team. He was under no illusions though that she considered him a friend. He was just her uncle’s friend.

Well – his dad’s friend, as it turned out. Trust Rachel to drop a bombshell like that before running away from the aftermath. Bass had always suspected that it might have been a possibility, even before the Blackout, and even more so once he had seen adult Charlie next to Miles. They were so similar. He never said anything, because what difference would it make? Rachel had clearly made her decision. He never even asked Miles if he had entertained the idea. Miles seemed happy with his relationship with Charlie. The two got along great, and Bass found a lot of comfort in the time he spent with them both. Things had felt normal again, or at least as normal as anything could be, post-Blackout. He sighed. So long to normalcy. Hello, overwhelming grief.

He felt the exhaustion wash over him. He stripped down out of his clothes, leaving them piled in a heap on the floor, and got in between the sheets. It was so comfortable, and luxurious, and he wondered if there would ever be any point of getting out of bed again. He lay there, and heard Charlie’s quiet footsteps as she moved into her bedroom; he had left the door ajar so that he would hear any disturbances in the night, but the world was quiet. What he wouldn’t give to hear Miles’ heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. Or Connor’s quiet chuckle from the kitchen. There was nothing though, just his quiet, measured breathing, and the knowledge that Charlie was a room or so away.

Bass drifted off to sleep, but woke up suddenly, not much later. Something had woken him. He reached for his gun automatically, but then paused. He heard the sound again, and he realised what it was. Charlie was crying. She was trying to be quiet, but he could hear the occasional sniffle or muffled sob. He wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to console her, but he didn’t know if she would want him to, and he didn’t have anything useful to say anyway. He was just as broken. Just as lost. He sighed audibly, and he heard her go silent; she had clearly heard him. He almost apologised, but then thought that would be crazy.

Suddenly, Bass heard the soft padding of feet moving gently across carpet. He opened his eyes and looked over to the bedroom door. He could see that Charlie was standing there, as the moonlight through the gap in the bedroom curtains provided just enough of a glow for him to recognise her. He sought desperately for something to say, but then without thinking blurted out, “Are you here to eat my brain?”

Charlie exhaled, almost with a surprised laugh. She had been lying awake, trying not to think about all the people she had lost, but failing miserably. The faces of her loved ones displayed on repeat in her mind, and she could almost hear their voices. It had eventually become too much for her to bear, and she broke down into tears. She felt so alone. When Monroe sighed, she realised that he must be awake, and that he too must be feeling awful. It was funny; she used to think he was a sociopath, but she knew now that when it came to the people he loved, he cared almost too much. She wasn’t sure how he was still functioning, having lost both Miles and Connor on the same day. He must be feeling so alone, just like her. She had a mad impulse to get up and go to him, and found herself doing just that, until she stood in his doorway on the verge of tears again. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she just stood there for a second. Then he spoke, and said the last thing she thought he would say, and it shocked her out of her tears for a moment almost to laughter.

“I don’t get why you keep saying that,” she grumbled.

He snorted. “Do you want Uncle Bass to tell you a bedtime story about zombies?”

She rolled her eyes, and then felt awkward, like she shouldn’t have gone to his room.

Bass felt her discomfort, and wanted to reassure her. He didn’t mind her coming in, and in fact, it was nice to have someone else there. He wanted to invite her to stay, but he didn’t want to seem sleazy or gross; it wasn’t about that. It was just about the comfort of each other’s company. “Charlie…” he said, but wasn’t sure how to follow that.

He felt her still.

“Sorry… I should go,” she mumbled.

“No. No. Don’t- don’t go,” he quickly responded, and added, “Do you want to crash here?” He felt like an idiot, and added, “you can, just, if you want to.” _Geez, Bass, you’re like some awkward teenager._

He was immensely relieved when she answered with a timid, “is that okay?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he assured her. “Everything’s so fucked up, Charlie. It’d be nice to not be alone.”

In response, she moved toward the bed, and he realised suddenly that he was entirely naked. _Shit._ “Wait!” he exclaimed, and sat up. Charlie froze. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly, “just, um – look, I need to put on some pants, or something.”

Even in the dim room, he could see her lips twitch. “Jesus, Monroe. Good save.” She bent down to the floor, felt around his pile of clothes, and stood up with his pants in her hand. “Here,” she said, and tossed them across to him.

Bass caught them, straightened them out and then slid them under the sheets, awkwardly getting his feet into them and then pulling them up over his hips. He fumbled with the fastenings, eventually managing to do them up. “We’re good,” he confirmed. She nodded, and walked around to the other side of the bed, lifted up the sheets and climbed in between them. She then lay down on her side, facing him. He mirrored her actions, so they were lying on opposite sides of the bed, looking at each other.

Charlie tucked her hands up under her head, and drew her knees up into the foetal position. It was better, having him next to her. She didn’t feel so alone now. Bass didn’t seem to mind. She guessed he was used to having women in his bed. He didn’t try to touch her, or anything, which she was grateful for. He just lay there, eyes closed, solid and steady. The gentle sound of his breathing comforted her, and helped her relax. She soon fell into a restless sleep.

Bass liked having her there. It had been a long time since he had shared a bed with a woman. He listened to her breathing slow, conscious of her little movements as she settled into slumber. When he was sure she was asleep, he opened his eyes and looked over at her. Her golden hair fanned out across the pillow glinted in the moonlight, and her face lost its anxious look. He found himself smiling quietly, watching her sleep. Before he knew it, he was asleep himself.


	3. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass needs to keep busy, but he doesn't think of the consequences.

Charlie woke up first. The very first rays of the sun were slipping through the gap of the curtains. She blinked awake, slowly, and found herself lying in a comfortable bed with Sebastian Monroe, his right ankle thrown over her lower legs. For a moment she was completely confused. Was she still dreaming? Not that she had been dreaming about sleeping with Monroe; she had been fighting alongside him and Miles- _oh, God. Miles. And Mom, and Aaron, and Priscilla. Everyone was gone._ She felt a sharp pain in her chest, as her heart clenched with pure sorrow. She didn't want to start crying again. Instead, she focussed on Monroe's face. He looked surprisingly serene. She knew he often had nightmares, having spent plenty of nights with their bedrolls close together. His frantic muttering had woken her up on more than one occasion. This morning, though, he looked at peace. He was turned to face her, his hands tucked under his face, that foot hooked over hers. She surprisingly didn't mind, not that she would ever tell him. It was nice to feel the connection to another person, even if it was Monroe. The sadness coursing through her settled, although didn't dissipate. She felt her eyelids closing, and gave back into the sweet release of slumber.

Bass woke up half an hour later, feeling unusually rested. Before he even opened his eyes, he knew two things; his leg was hooked over Charlie's in an incredibly comfortable way, and his morning wood was spectacular, almost painful. He flicked his eyes open and was relieved to see Charlie was still asleep. He didn't know if she knew that morning wood was a thing, and he didn't want her thinking he was getting horny over her. Of course he wasn't. His erection had nothing to do with the softness of her skin against his, or the glint of her hair in the early light, or the pink curve of her lips... _Christ._ Bass stifled a groan. He was often incredibly horny in the mornings, and it had been so long since he had shared a bed with a beautiful woman; but his body clearly had some muscle memory going on. What he wouldn't give right now to run his fingers along her arms, trace little circles over her skin; lean in close, gently kiss her sweet lips. How he would love for her to respond in kind, wrapping her warm body around his. He knew that he had a snowball chance in hell of that happening though. Which was fine, since this was Miles' daughter he was thinking about. The morning after Miles had died, for fuck's sake. What the hell was wrong with him? 

He had to get out of this bed, right now, but he didn't want to wake Charlie; she needed her sleep. He carefully and slowly raised his foot and moved it back to his side of the bed, and then gently slid out from between the sheets. He winced at how hard he was - that was going to have to be the first order of business to take care of. He grabbed his gun from the nightstand and his shirt and boots from the floor and tiptoed out to the lounge, where he quickly slipped his boots on, and pulled his shirt on over his arms. He didn't bother doing it up. He then strode out of the apartment and made his way down the stairs.

As he reached the exit for the building, he opened the door as quietly as he could and peered outside. He didn't hear anything to concern him, but he figured he was better safe than sorry. The morning sun was bright and cheerful, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was going to be a warm day for sure. He stepped out into the sun, and avoiding the spot where his family and friends lay dead, he walked around the corner in search of a house, in the hopes he might find some plumbing still working. He could see a water tower, so it was possible. He needed to jack off, and then he needed a cold shower. 

Charlie woke at about the same time that Monroe spotted a suitable house, not that she knew what he was doing. She just woke up to a rapidly cooling bed, and the vague musky scent of Monroe still in the air. "Monroe?" she said sleepily, expecting him to answer her from the kitchen, perhaps. When she didn't hear anything back, she sat up in the bed, eyes blinking open anxiously. "Monroe?" she asked more loudly, but was still met with silence. _Where had he gone?_ She glanced past his side of the bed, and realised his clothes and gun were gone. _Had he left her??_

She threw the covers off, and ran out into the kitchen. No sign of him anywhere. _What if he's in trouble?_ Charlie ran to her bedroom, and dressed quickly in a fresh set of clothes, pulled on her boots, and grabbed her crossbow. As she rushed back out to the lounge, it hit her that he might have just left her. Why would he want to stay with her? She had suspected he might leave her last night, after all. She slumped on the couch and burst into tears. She couldn't cope with yet another loss. 

Bass, meanwhile was enjoying the amenities of the house he had found. Running water was a delight, even if it was cold. Once he had taken himself in hand, literally, he spent some time scrubbing himself clean with a bar of soap, wearing it down to a small sliver. He even used a little shampoo and conditioner on his hair that he had found in some old bottles under the sink. By the time he stepped out, he the cleanest he had been in as long as he could remember. He grabbed an old towel hanging on a rail next to the shower and dried himself off, rubbing his hair vigorously. He wrapped the towel loosely around his waist, and then looked in the mirror. _Jeez, you're looking good for your age, Bass._ He grinned, and then looked critically at his hair and beard. He could definitely use a trim all round. He searched the drawers and found a set of small scissors. He leaned up close to the mirror and got to work.

By the time he finished, he was pretty pleased with his work. He had even found some tweezers to take care of his monobrow. This had all proved an excellent distraction from reality. He studiously refused to allow any thoughts of his friends into his head. 

_What now?_ Bass looked in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, and found an unopened small bottle of Davidoff 'Cool Water' cologne. He almost clapped his hands with glee; that was one of his favourites. He sprayed himself liberally with it, enjoying the smell that now filled the bathroom, even if it was a little strong. Finally, he found a large pump bottle of Vaseline moisturiser, and slowly smoothed it all over his entire body, rubbing extra into his elbows and knees. He felt like he was at the spa. Once he was done with that, he used the scissors to trim his fingernails and toenails too over the shower floor, and then used the shower head to wash all traces of him away. 

Eventually, he ran out of pampering options. He thought for a moment, and then strolled casually into the master bedroom and looked through the closet and chest of drawers. Whoever previously lived in the house was a similar size to Bass; maybe a little fatter, but his jeans still fit okay with a belt, and there was a nice slimline blue shirt hanging up in the closet. There was even a couple pairs of tighty whitey boxer shorts and black crew socks. It had been a long time since Bass was concerned about wearing other people’s underwear, so he pulled them on quite happily. Once he was fully dressed in brand new clothes – brand new to him, anyway – he figured he should get back to Charlie. He checked the kitchen and found a full bag of oats on a high shelf. He loved little towns like this which were basically deserted and still had the occasional little treat to be found.

He collected his old clothes, grabbed the bottle of cologne and the bag of oats, and made his way back down the street towards the apartment building to make breakfast for himself and Charlie, before they had to deal with all of the corpses he was stepping around.

Charlie was huddled on the couch, hugging her knees, her eyes swollen from crying, her hair still unruly from sleep. She didn’t know what to do, where to go. She didn’t have anything left. Suddenly she heard a noise, and looked up. She turned around and saw Bass coming through the door. He was the single most beautiful thing Charlie had ever seen. Golden curls, tanned skin, eyes as blue as the shirt he was wearing. He was grinning as he stepped into the apartment, but his face fell as he saw the state that Charlie was in.

“Shit, Charlie-” Bass said, with concern. Charlie sprung up from the couch and ran over to him. He dropped everything he was holding, on instinct, seeing the little blonde hellcat come flying towards him with fists raised. “Monroe, you asshole!” she cried. She slammed her fists into his chest, pummelling him with exhausted rage. “I thought you left me.”

Bass’s good mood completely evaporated, and he felt his heart tighten. _I’m such an asshole._ “Fuck, no. Charlie. I didn’t, I wouldn’t,” he protested. “I couldn’t.” Her fists flailed at his chest a few more times, until he caught them. She tried to fight him off, but he held her wrists steady, murmuring, “Charlie, it’s okay.” She eventually gave up, and leaned against his chest, sobbing. He let her wrists go, and wrapped his arms tightly around her delicate frame. Her arms flew around his waist, and she held him back just as tightly. They stood there like that as she continued to weep. He lifted a hand to the back of her head and began to stroke her hair, gently, to calm her. Charlie’s sobs slowed down, and she took a few deep breaths, but they continued to stand there together. Eventually, her crying stopped entirely, and they both stood silently for another minute or two. She lifted her head and looked up at Bass, her face streaked with tears. He looked down at her, their eyes locked. Her face implored him, ‘ _you can’t leave me’;_ his eyes promised in return, ‘ _I won’t, I swear’._ They didn’t need words; they had been able to read each other like a book for a long time now. Their gaze grew more intense, and something shifted in the air. Bass felt something stir in him, and quickly dropped his arms and stepped backwards awkwardly. Charlie frowned, and then sniffed. “You smell amazing,” she said frankly. “What is that?”

Bass laughed. “Cool Water,” he responded. She raised an eyebrow. He bent down and picked up the cologne to show her the bottle. “I found a house with running water. I mean, it’s cold, but it’s better than nothing. I had a shower, pampered myself a little. You should too, actually. I’ll take you over there in a bit.” He then picked up the bag of oats from the floor, and said softly, “I’ll make breakfast first.” She nodded.

He walked over to the kitchen area. “Hey, can you pull the curtains?” he asked. “It’s so dark and depressing in here.” Charlie went around the rooms, opening all the curtains wide, and then walked back to the doorway of the master bedroom, leaning against the frame, watching him prepare the oatmeal. He had found a little sugar in one of the cupboards the night before, and added some carefully to each bowl. She thought again how good he looked. Obviously she had realised that he was handsome, before, but in the clean blue shirt which made his eyes pop, and with his hair looking a little shorter and actually clean, he was a sight for sore eyes. It wasn’t just his physical attributes that made him so beautiful to her; it was that yet again, Monroe had come back for her. Even though everyone else in her life had left her, permanently now, he was still here, and he wasn’t going anywhere. For someone who had said goodbye to too many people, over and over again, this was beautiful to Charlie. Not for the first time in her life, but the first time she allowed herself to feel it, Charlie was grateful for Sebastian Monroe.

“Here you go,” he said, and held out the bowl. She took it gratefully, and they ate standing up. When they finished, they put both bowls into the sink with the dishes from the night before. “No point in washing these,” Bass said conversationally. “Too hard here anyway, without the running water. We should shift location to this house I found, at least for now. I had to break a window pane to get in, but it’s only small; I can cover it up easily.”

Charlie didn’t care. It was all the same to her. She shrugged, and nodded. “Sure. I’ll grab my stuff.”

They collected everything they needed from the apartment, and then Bass led her over to the house. Charlie wrinkled her nose as they walked through the street surrounded by the dead. “We need to do something about all these, right?” she asked. Bass grimaced. “Yeah, I guess,” he answered. “Otherwise we’ll probably get a whole bunch of wolves or bears or something in here, which wouldn’t be great.”

“Plus, they’re human beings, Monroe,” Charlie reminded him. “Even if they did give themselves over to those freaky nano things.”

“I suppose,” he shrugged. Clearly he was less bothered by that side of things. “The easiest way to thing would just be to burn them all somehow.”

Charlie looked in the direction of their family. “You don’t mean them, too, do you?”

Bass saw where she was looking. “Hell no,” he said. “We’ll dig proper graves for our people.” Charlie was relieved.

They reached the house that Bass had found, and he pushed the door open. “In you go, princess,” he instructed.

Charlie glanced over at him as she walked past him into the house. “Princess?”

“Oh, never mind,” he said awkwardly, following her in and closing the door. She decided not to push it, but felt like she might ask again; there was something he wasn’t telling her.

She walked forward, and Bass commented, “First door on the left.”

She followed his instructions and found the master bedroom with ensuite that Bass had been in already for his shower. She looked at the bed, and then turned back to him with a question on her lips. Bass already knew what she was going to ask, and this time he was a bit more prepared to handle the situation. “It’s up to you,” he said evenly. “Things are just – shit. For both of us. And I certainly could use the company. I sleep better. But- it’s your choice. There’s another bedroom down the hall.”

Charlie stared back at him. A week ago if Monroe had asked her if she wanted to share a bedroom with him, she would have laughed in his face, or more likely slapped him. But she remembered the feeling of utter loneliness that had come over her the night before, and again this morning, and she didn’t want to have to deal with that every day.

“Okay,” she agreed, “We can share. On two conditions, Monroe.”

He looked back at her wordlessly, waiting for her to explain further.

“Condition one – you find some pyjamas to wear. I will too.” Bass’s lips twitched, and he answered, “I think that’s a good call.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help but give him a fraction of a smile back.

“Condition two,” she said, and stopped, her expression faltering.

“What is it, Charlie?” Bass asked.

“If you do decide to leave, can you write me a note, or something?” she asked quietly. “At least then I’ll know.”

Bass stared at her for a second, nonplussed. Then he stepped forward so that he was right in front of her, and took her gently by the shoulders. He thought she understood, but he clearly needed to say it out loud. “Charlotte. Miles asked me to look after you. I’m never leaving you,” he promised. She looked up at him, with sad eyes. “I don’t want to be a burden just because of some deathbed promise,” she mumbled.

He lifted his hand to cup her face, and stroked her cheek with his rough thumb. “You’re all I have left. You’re family. It’s you and me from here on out, kid. Whether you like it or not.”

She looked up at him, searching his face, and then gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

They lingered like that for a moment, and then Charlie broke away and looked around the room. “Reckon there’s some nice new clothes for me in here too?”

Bass chuckled. “Let’s check it out. If not here, I’m sure there’s something in this damn town that’ll fit you."


	4. Despair

Charlie had found herself some new clean clothes in the house next door. There was an olive green tank top, slightly worn dark grey jeans, and a set of plain but matching black underwear. Bass then pulled a bright pink t-shirt with a unicorn emblazoned on the front of it, out of the same drawer as the olive top, and said, "This is definitely you," with a big smirk on his face. She threw some rolled up socks at him and hit him on the forehead, which had him screech in surprise and her doubled over with laughter. Once she'd found the stuff she wanted, they went back to 'their' house, and she laid it all carefully on the bed.

She then turned and looked at Bass and said, "OK I think we better get stuck in, Monroe."

She watched the dark cloud move in over his face, and it was like the light-hearted joker had never existed. “Yeah,” he growled. “Let’s get Connor and Miles and everyone somewhere cool till we can dig the graves.” He strode outside without waiting for her. She frowned and followed him.

He reached the bodies before she did, and stood there silently, looking down. To her it probably seemed as if he was uncaring, but it was taking everything he had to keep it together, to not fall apart. He didn’t do good with stuff like this. The only way he knew to keep moving was to shove it all down and ignore all his emotions. He knew people thought that he seemed like a sociopath. Charlie certainly did. But it’s all he could do right now.

As he heard her walking up, he barked without looking at her, “Grab his feet, would you?” She moved over to the end of the body he was standing over, seeing it was Connor. “Where shall we take him?”

Monroe jerked his head down the road. “There’s a butcher’s shop down there. It’ll have a cold store. At least the temperature will be cool and steady in there.” He leaned down and picked Connor up by the arms. “Come on.”

Charlie nodded and reached down for his ankles. He was incredibly heavy, but she expected that. She had carried dead bodies before. They stepped carefully together, around the other corpses, and made their way to the butchers’. Monroe was right; it was definitely cooler in the empty coldstore. They lay him carefully on the ground, and went back for the others.

By the time they had moved all the bodies, they were sweating heavily. Bass poured them each a glass of water from the tap at the butchers, and they drank it down quickly. He disappeared out to the back room, where he checked the cupboards and drawers in quick succession. He returned to the front of the shop waving two full bottles of bourbon. “This’ll help.” He tossed one to Charlie, and unscrewed the other, taking a large swig.

“Now what?” she asked. She didn’t want to start drinking yet. They had a lot of work to do.

“We gotta burn the bodies,” he muttered.

“But how?” she asked practically. “I don’t know how to build a proper funeral pyre.”

“Me either,” he shrugged. “In the early days we buried everyone; later on I left it to the officers to deal with.” They stared at each other, thinking. Charlie couldn’t understand how he was so calm, but it was helping her to keep it together, especially after having to carry the bodies of all of their remaining family.

“What about a house?” she asked. “If we put them all in a house and then burn it down, that’d be enough to incinerate the bodies, surely?” He thought for a moment and then nodded. “Good idea, Xena.” She frowned. Yet another reference to the pre-Blackout world, obviously. She hated when he did that.

Monroe took another swig from the bottle, then put it down on the bench and went back into the back rooms of the butchery. This time he came out wheeling a large trolley. “This’ll help,” he grunted. He wheeled it out the front door and over to where the mass of bodies still lay out on the street. The sun was properly out now, and Charlie could detect the first whiff of decay. They definitely needed to do this fast otherwise the stench would be unbearable. “I’ll find a good house,” she said, and went looking. It didn’t take her long; she found the perfect place, a two storey building on a quarter acre section just down the road. The building on one side had fallen down, and the other was concrete blocks, so hopefully the fire wouldn’t spread. She went back to tell Monroe and found him coming toward her already with three bodies piled on the trolley.

They quickly worked out a plan. Charlie took the trolley over and wheeled the bodies back and forth. Monroe picked them up and distributed them throughout the house. It took them the entire afternoon to get the job done, and as she wheeled the final couple of bodies over to the house, she realised she was absolutely soaked with sweat. She was glad she hadn’t changed into her new clothes. Monroe came down to grab the last ones and she could see he was the same. It had been exhausting work, but she was glad they had done it. The idea of leaving all these people to rot on the street just seemed wrong. She knew they wouldn’t have been able to dig enough graves for everyone, but at least this was a bit more dignified.

She rolled the trolley back out onto the street and waited for him to join her. He came out, unceremoniously wiping the sweat from his brow. “Now we need some accelerants,” he said. “Look for bottles with purple liquid. Probably under the sink or in the garage or something. Any full petrol cans would be good too.” They spread out. Charlie found a couple petrol cans and brought them back to the house; she found Monroe had done the same. They methodically worked their way through the house, sloshing the petrol about. The petrol did a good job of hiding the stench that was rapidly building in the house, but Charlie still felt a little nauseous.

“Okay. That should do it,” Monroe said. He put his two empty petrol cans down, and took Charlie’s last one, which still had a little left in it. “Just need the fuse.” He stepped out of the house and walked backwards, pouring the last of the petrol slowly out in a straight line as he went.

Charlie followed him and when they reached the gate, she asked, “Can I light it?”

“Only if you want to catch on fire yourself,” he smirked. “Shower and put on other clothes, first.”

She turned to walk toward the house, but realised Monroe wasn’t following. “What are you going to do?”

“Go shower,” he said, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the house. “Take it easy. See you back here in an hour.”

She shrugged, and made her way back the house. If she had turned back again, she would have seen Monroe making his way to the butcher’s.

Charlie stepped into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and looked at the shower. There was a showerhead sticking out of the wall, and two taps, one marked red and other blue. She frowned, and then turned the blue tap. Cold water came pelting out of the showerhead, raining down on her. “Oh!” She gasped at the shock of the cold water hitting her overheated skin, but soon it was quite bearable, given how sweaty and hot she was. She ducked her head under the water to get her hair wet, and noticed a couple of bottles at her feet. She picked one up and read the label, and then looked at the other. She smiled and squirted some of the contents in the second bottle into her hand.

A while later, Charlie had finally managed to rinse all the suds out of her hair. She turned the shower off and stepped out, grabbing one of the clean folded towels under the sink. She dried herself off and then took some time patting down her hair. She opened the cabinet and was pleased to find a wide tooth comb. She took it out and set to making her hair more manageable.

Eventually, Charlie emerged from the house, with her damp hair dangling knot-free over her shoulders, wearing the new outfit she had found. She walked slowly over to the house, and found Monroe slumped outside the gate, leaning against the concrete wall bordering the property. He held the neck of the bottle of bourbon that he had found in his hand, but the bottle was now only at most a third full. She sighed. She definitely didn’t feel like dealing with drunk Monroe right now. The only way this would be manageable would be if-

Monroe reached behind him, and pulled out the other bottle. He reached out his arm and offered it to her. Charlie frowned. He knew her too well. She wordlessly leaned down and took the bottle from him, uncapped it, and took a long drink. She felt the burning liquid run down into her stomach.

“Let’s get this thing lit up,” Monroe muttered. “Better to get it mostly burned down before it gets dark.” He pushed himself up off the ground, a little unsteadily, then reached into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small matchbook, which he passed to Charlie. He then strode to the other side of the street and leaned against the opposite house’s fence. “Light her up,” he called.

Charlie put her bottle down, and opened the matchbook. She walked up to where Bass had finished pouring out the petrol, ripped out a match, lit it, and held it to where the liquid pooled. The flame leapt from the match to the liquid in a fraction of a second, and the flame raced inside. Charlie almost fell backwards, but caught herself, and instead stood back up and made her way across the street. She leaned against the fence next to Monroe, not quite close enough to be touching, but almost. “This will work, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. Look,” he said softly, and pointed with the hand holding his bourbon at the bottom window. The flames were already licking up the side. As they watched, smoke began to stream out of the house, and before long, the flames were dancing merrily at the upstairs windows too. The two of them just stood and watched for a long while as the flames consumed the house. The smell of burning meat reached their nostrils, and Charlie shifted uneasily. “Should we say something?”

Bass lifted his now almost empty bottle of bourbon, and shouted, “To a bunch of sad idiots who gave up their lives to some freaky AI shit and got everyone we love killed. Thanks a fucking bunch.”

Charlie turned to look at him, shocked. “Jesus, Monroe.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he looked down at the near empty bottle of bourbon and then threw it angrily toward the house. It spiralled through the air and smashed against the concrete wall. “They’re all fucking gone!” he bellowed. “Everyone is dead. I have nothing left.” He looked wildly around him. There was a little line of small pots at the foot of the fence they were standing next to, the plants they had hosted long gone. He picked each one of them up and threw them angrily at the concrete until they were standing in a sea of smashed pottery.

When he ran out of things to throw, he kicked the wooden fence twice. Charlie stood watching him, wordlessly. She didn’t know what to do. He looked back over the house, and she saw his face crumple, and the tears spring to his eyes. He folded over, his hands on this thighs, suddenly sobbing. Charlie tentatively stepped closer, clearing her throat awkwardly, and when he didn’t react, she stood next to him and put her hand gently on his shoulder. He attempted to stand upright, but his grief was overpowering, and he bent over again. She rubbed his shoulder softly, and then moved to wider strokes across his back. As the sadness overwhelmed him, he moved as if to lean against her, and she instinctively put her hand out and pulled his head into her chest. He readily let her, and sobbed harder against her, his arms wrapping around her arm. All she could do was hold him, and let him get it out.

Eventually his weight proved too much, and she sank down to the ground, still holding him to her. His knees gave way and he dropped to the ground with her. She moved slightly to get comfortable, and then the two of them sat there like that – him crying into her chest, her rubbing his back softly – as the flames grew taller and the sun set in the sky. They sat there until the flames grew small, and the house collapsed in on itself. After a long time, Monroe stopped crying, and his breathing slowed, but he didn’t move, and neither did she.

It wasn’t until the night was entirely dark that Monroe shifted. Charlie was half asleep, her hand moving from muscle memory alone. He sat up abruptly, jerking her awake.

“Thanks,” he muttered softly.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Honestly it was freaking me out you were so calm. This made more sense.”

He pushed himself off the ground and stood up. She tried to do the same, but her legs were basically dead underneath her from sitting as they had for all that time. Monroe saw her struggle, and reached his hand down wordlessly. She took it gratefully and he pulled her to her feet. They stood like that for a moment and then he dropped her hand. “Let’s go to bed,” he muttered, and walked back towards their house. She followed him, and they made their way to the bedroom. Neither spoke; they just got changed into the pyjamas they’d both found earlier and left sitting on the bed. Charlie automatically got into the side nearest the windows, knowing without asking that Monroe would want to be closest to the door. He was more of an alpha male than anyone else she had ever known. He needed to be the protector.

They lay there quietly for some time, both crying, tears rolling silently down their cheeks. Neither noticed the other’s despair. They were both each too caught up in their own sadness.

In the morning, Charlie again woke first, but this time thought she would leave Monroe to sleep a little longer. She padded quietly out to the kitchen and fixed herself some breakfast, taking the bowl outside to the garden where there were a couple of old metal chairs. She perched there and watched as the sun steadily rose, illuminating the darker corners of the garden. The birds sang cheerily around her; she could see them flitting between the trees. It was a quiet peacefulness that she appreciated. It had been a long time since she had been able to enjoy the serenity of a morning like this. The ex-Marines were usually up before her, years of habit ingrained into them. Even when she was the first awake, a camp full of people was never quiet, between the snores, the farts, the heavy breathing. This peacefulness was calming.

She sat there for almost an hour, not really thinking or doing anything, just quietly sitting. Monroe suddenly appeared at the door, carrying a bowl, evidently with the same idea that she had. “Morning,” she greeted him. He nodded wearily in response and sat down opposite her. They sat quietly while he ate. Charlie studied him. His eyes were still a little red from crying, she noticed, but he seemed okay, more like the stoic General Monroe she knew, at least. She knew that his grief was still there, bubbling under the surface, and mentally prepared herself for potentially having to deal with another outburst. She knew that they had to be there for each other. They didn’t have anyone else. So if Monroe needed to throw stuff, and cry, and anything else, she would be there to help him through it. She knew that he would do the same for her. He had made that clear. She wasn’t sure if it was only because of the promise he had made to Miles, but she felt like there was more to it than that. Monroe had always valued family, more than anything else, and she was all he had left, now, even if she wasn’t technically family. Blood wasn’t everything, she knew that.

Once he finished, he looked up, and met her eyes. “Graves today,” he said quietly, and she nodded. He got up, picked up her bowl, and walked back into the kitchen. She heard the water running and realised he was washing them. She walked in and picked up a tea towel from the bench, dried the dishes, and put them away.

“Put your dirty clothes back on,” he instructed her. She grimaced, but she knew he was right. Grave digging was dirty work.

They stood outside the house, each holding a spade, both of which they had found in a shed out the back. “Any ideas?” Monroe asked. They needed to pick a place to bury their loved ones.

“How about in that little park off the town square. Someone had done up the garden there, it looked nice and peaceful,” she suggested.

“Good as anywhere,” he agreed. They walked there together. Monroe carefully paced out the graves and she marked the areas with small sticks. Then they got stuck in to digging. It was a long, hard morning. Charlie could feel every muscle in her back and arms. Her clothes clung to her, stinking of petrol, covered in bloodstains and streaks of dirt. Her hands were beginning to blister from holding the spade. When she showed Monroe, he looked at them critically, and then said, “We need to get you some gloves. Can’t afford for those to get infected.” He looked up at the sky and added, “it’s nearly lunch time, anyway.”

They walked to the closest house, rather than going back to the one they thought of as theirs. Charlie carefully washed her hands at the sink with a bar of soap, wincing a couple of times as the soap touched the more raw bits of skin. Monroe went looking through the house and returned with a pair of thick woollen gloves. “Here,” he said. He then looked in the cupboards, and found a small stash of cans which he took out and put on the bench. He looked through the kitchen drawers and found a can opener. Charlie pulled the gloves on, and had to admit that it didn’t hurt so much for her to put pressure on her palms.

Monroe handed her an open can and a fork, and they ate quickly. They weren’t eager to get back to the job at hand, but the sooner it was done, the sooner they could bury their dead. Both of them felt the need to lay their loved ones to rest.

They got back out there and resumed their digging. Thankfully the ground seemed relatively soft, and they were able to get the graves down to Charlie’s height. Charlie dug the last bits while Monroe moved onto the next one, and then as she finished he would pull her out. Working like this, it took them two full days to dig the five graves to what they both considered an acceptable death. When they finished, they both stood there, staring at the graves. Charlie suddenly said, “Wait here,” and took off running back toward the main street. Bass shrugged and stood there silently. He heard here as she came back, and looked up to see her carrying the other bottle of bourbon. “I think we’ve earned this,” she said quietly. He nodded, and gave her a half smile. “Let’s go home, though,” she said, and this time he followed her back to their house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the bit where he cries and she holds him, that was inspired by a scene in season 1 of Veronica Mars, where Logan breaks down after realising his mother really is dead. I felt like that would be a really strong moment between Charlie and Bass, and I wanted to put it in my last story, but didn't have a good place for it. So I'm glad it worked here. I needed Bass to have a breakdown, because he couldn't cope that well for very long. 
> 
> Next up will be the funeral, of course, and then they need to decide what to do next.


	5. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Bass ready themselves, and then undertake their final goodbyes.

Charlie strolled out from the bathroom in her comfy purple cotton pyjamas and curled up on the big old grey couch in the lounge. She had brought the comb with her, and dragged it painstakingly through her damp hair. Bass had showered before her, and was now perusing the bookcase. She noticed with a wry smile that he was wearing his pyjamas too. They were a dark navy silk, and suited him, although she could tell the pants were a little loose and were hanging low on his hips. Thinking about it, Monroe was looking a little thin. She guessed she was as well, although she didn't really keep track of her appearance, given the limited existence of mirrors in her life. While she had done her best on the hunting front, feeding six adults was a big ask, and there were more than a few days where people had gone hungry. Thankfully there seemed to be a decent amount of food in Bradbury, as the town appeared to have been relatively abandoned until the nanotech had taken it over - unsurprisingly given its remote location in the west of the Plains Nation, not that far from the Wastelands. She wasn't sure what the nano-drones had eaten, because they hadn't seemed to have checked many of the houses in the town for supplies. Charlie knew the nanotech things could control animals, so maybe they just brought animals in for them to eat. Or maybe they didn't eat at all, since the nanotech could heal their bodies for them. She had no idea, and she figured now that her mom and Aaron were gone, she would never know.

She sighed, drawing Bass's attention. "Hey, they've got some good books here. You should look," he remarked. He ran his fingers along the spines, and then drew out a thick hardcover book. He flicked it over to read the back cover, and Charlie could see the front cover for a moment; it was sepia coloured, with a small silhouette of a plane flying over the ocean, and the words _Laura Hillenbrand_ and _Unbroken_ emblazoned over the image. He frowned, and then put it back, and pulled out another. Charlie caught a glimpse of this one's cover; she read the name _Clive Cussler_ , and saw the word _Storm._ "Yeah, that's better," Bass murmured. "Pure escapism." He picked up the bottle of bourbon from the top of the shelf where he had obviously left it while he was choosing. He then surprised Charlie as he dropped down on the couch next to her, although leaving some space between them. She looked pointedly at the empty armchair, which admittedly looked a lot less comfortable than the couch. Bass ignored her entirely, settling back and opening up his book. 

Charlie rolled her eyes, but figured it wasn't worth arguing about. She glanced over at the bookcase. She wasn't much of a reader. She'd certainly read a bit as a kid; whenever her dad had ventured outside of Sylvania Estates, which admittedly wasn't often, he'd brought her home a book, and she was always excited to see what he had. Her favourite had been the Hunger Games series, and she smiled slightly as she remembered how much she loved the independent, fiery Katniss Everdeen. Her love for the character was what had initially inspired her interest in archery. Johannes, the unofficial carpentry master at Sylvania Estates, had smiled with interest when she asked him if he could make her a bow and arrow, and though it had taken him a few weeks, he'd managed to create a perfectly sized bow and a set of five arrows for her to practice with. As she got older and Ben agreed that she could try to hunt for the family, it had become clear to her that the little bow and arrow wasn't as efficient as she would like. Christmas that year, her eyes were wide when she saw her Christmas present from Ben and Maggie - a real crossbow. It didn't take her long to master the use of the more effective weapon, and she was hooked. 

After that - life got in the way. Neville turned up, and his men killed her father, and then her life turned into a blur of walking and fighting for her life. There wasn't really time for books. Her old bow and arrows were probably still waiting faithfully in the corner of her old room for her to return; her little collection of books still on the shelf gathering dust, under the watchful eye of Edward the teddybear.

How life had changed. Perhaps she could become a reader now. What else was there to do, other than drink bourbon with a miserable ex-dictator who was taking up space on her couch? She clambered to her feet and walked over to the bookcase, crouching down to read the titles on the lower shelves. There was quite an array of books, most of which she had never heard of. Her eyes flickered along the array of spines, reading as she went. _In Cold Blood -_ no, she had enough of that in real life. _11/22/63 -_ sounded like a boring history book. _Water for Elephants -_ maybe that was how to keep an elephant as a pet? It sounded pointless. _A Dance with Dragons -_ no, she wasn't interested in all that silly magic stuff. It's why she had never bothered with Harry Potter, even though Danny was obsessed and kept trying to make her read it to him. Thankfully Maggie was always happy to read books to him, although she always seemed a little sad afterwards. What else? _Ready Player One -_ something about games? She pulled it out to look. The cover looked kind of futuristic, with the title of the book written in fat letters over a picture of what looked like caravans piled up. Bass glanced up to see what she was holding, and nodded with approval when he saw her choice. "Good pick," he said. "I liked that when I came out." He looked pensive for a second. "Ohh - I'm not sure if you'll like it. Or get it. It's all about technology and 80s pop culture." Then he grinned. "Might help you get some of my references, though."

Charlie shook her head in mock irritation, but flicked through the pages. It looked pretty easy to read, and it wasn't nearly as thick as most of the books on the shelf. She shrugged and took it back to the couch. She got as far as two pages in before she threw the book on the floor, frustration clear on her face. Bass glanced over and grinned in wry amusement. "That bad?"

"I don't know what it's talking about," she complained. "What the hell is a sitcom? Or cornflakes? Or Space Invaders?" Bass laughed out loud.

She glared at him. "You're a space invader. This is my couch."

He continued to grin. "What, didn't Ben ever teach you to share, princess?"

She frowned. "What's this princess thing? You said it the other day too."

He suddenly looked awkward. "It's nothing," he muttered. 

She grabbed a cushion and hit him with it. "Just tell me already."

He sighed. "I had a memory the other day. Of you, when you were a kid. It just popped into my head, I don't know why."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. She had figured that Monroe knew her when she was little, but it had never come up.

He took her silence as her expecting him to explain. "Me and Miles, we came by, one time. Not that long before the Blackout, I don't think." His eyes flicked to the left, as he recalled the memory. "Miles wanted to see your mom. I guess you can work out why." Their eyes met, and Charlie grimaced a little.

Bass continued, "Ben wasn't home. Maybe he was ironing out the kinks with the nano. Clearly that worked out great. Anyway, so your mom was trying to feed Danny in the kitchen, and Miles was in there talking to her. Danny was crying, Miles was shitty, your mom was upset, I don't know, it was a total shitshow. So I figure I'll go see if there's a game on, or something. I go to the lounge, and you're in there." He smiled softly. Charlie was transfixed. "You’re dolled up in some costume, I think. I remember a lot of pink. I said, look at you, you’ve got a shiny crown. You stomped your foot and said, it’s a ti-AH-ra.” Bass emphasised the word the way the four-year-old Charlie would have said it. “I said, okay Charlotte, well it’s very nice. Can I watch the TV in here? And you said, not Charlotte. Princess. You were adamant.” He laughed, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. Charlie couldn’t help but laugh too, although she was a little sad she couldn’t remember it. “Did I let you watch the TV?” Charlie asked.

Bass thought for a moment. “I don’t remember.” He shrugged, and his face took on a teasing look. “You were a vision in all that pink. You should definitely have gone for the unicorn t-shirt.” Charlie hit him with the cushion again. 

This was all very cosy, but Bass could feel the sadness creeping in, as he remembered that night. It was the last time they’d visited Rachel and Ben and the kids before the Blackout, he thought. The last time before everything went to shit. His face hardened a little, and he reached for the bourbon, taking a decent drink. _Keep it together, Bass._ He looked back at Charlie. “Right, so what didn’t you know? OK so, Space Invaders was one of the first videogames, I guess? You controlled a little spaceship at the bottom of the screen, and tried to shoot all these little alien characters that came down towards your ship. Super basic. Cornflakes, well, we might actually find some here. That was just a type of boring cereal, flakes made out of corn, exactly what you’d think. What was the other thing?”

“Sitcoms,” Charlie said. She was a little surprised, although she tried not to show it. Monroe didn’t usually take the time to explain things like this to her. She reached for the bottle, and Monroe passed it over to her.

“Oh, that was shows on TV, with loads of episodes about groups of people, I guess. Comedies. There were loads of good ones. I liked _Scrubs,_ that was about doctors at a hospital. _It’s Always Sunny_ was good, me and Miles always watched that. _Friends_ was always on-“ he realised Charlie was staring at him blankly. “Uh, yeah. So TV comedies, basically.”

She nodded, handing the bottle back to him. “So you watched lots of television? And movies?”

“Oh yeah, I loved movies. Miles didn’t have the attention span to watch them, or he’d get irritated at the plot holes. But I loved movies. Watched them all the time.” The enthusiasm was evident on his face.

“What was your favourite?” Charlie asked.

Bass thought for a moment, and took a long swig of bourbon.

“That’s too hard a question,” he countered. The bourbon was started to make his brain nicely fuzzy. “To be fair, I don’t remember lots.”

“Tell me about one you do remember,” she said.

“Um, Die Hard?” It was the first movie to pop into his head. “It’s about a cop who has to stop terrorists taking over a tower.”

She frowned, and shook her head. “No, I mean, tell me about the movie. Like, the whole plot.” Bass raised an eyebrow, and she flushed a little. “You don’t have to. It’s just- it was a thing Aaron used to do, sometimes. I remember he tried to tell me and Danny about Star Wars, but he’d keep going off on random tangents about the different races and planets and stuff, it was super confusing.” She laughed.

Bass grinned. “How predictable, that Nerdboy liked Star Wars.”

“He liked a bunch of different movies,” Charlie asserted. “He told us one about this guy who went to prison, for killing his wife, except he didn’t I don’t think? And he ended up doing all this money stuff for the boss of the prison-“

“Shawshank Redemption,” Bass declared. “Yeah, that was a good one. Everyone liked that one. What else?”

“Um-“ she thought back. “There was a guy who was a really good runner, and he went to war, and he liked this girl, but I think she did heaps of drugs, or something.” Bass looked blank. “He had a fishing boat and bought lots of apples and it made him rich I think.” Bass’s face cleared, and he laughed. “Something like that. That would have been _Forrest Gump._ ”

Charlie shrugged. Bass sat back on the couch with his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, “so there was this guy. Total badass. Basically, imagine me, except without such good hair. His name was John McClane. His wife, Holly, lives in LA – that’s central California Commonwealth – and he lived in New York, which was a huge city, maybe a hundred fifty clicks from Philly.”

“What?” Charlie asked. “That’s stupid. Why did they live so far away from each other?”

“Well, I guess they were having problems in their marriage, and they were thinking about getting divorced. Anyway, it’s not important. So…” Bass continued his recollections of the film, Charlie occasionally asking questions, both taking turns drinking from the bottle of bourbon resting between them.

“So yeah – McClane saves the fucking day, total legend. And he and Holly work it out, and everything is happy ever after,” Monroe finished, satisfied that he had recounted the legend as accurately as he could manage. He drained the final dregs of the bourbon. “And now I guess we hit the hay. Big day tomorrow.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them, as it reminded them both of the job they had ahead of them the next day; burying the last remaining people they loved. Charlie’s face faltered, and he grasped for something else to say to keep the sadness at bay. He said the only thing he could think of, which was “yippie kai-yay, motherfucker.” Charlie just shook her head at him and walked into the bathroom.

When she came back out, Monroe was already in bed, having taken a quick slash outside instead of waiting for her to finish up. She crawled under the covers next to him, and said drowsily, “Good night.”

“Good night, Princess,” Bass murmured back, and winced as her fist flew into his shoulder at close range.

The next morning, Bass’s eyes blinked open to the first streams of light peeking in through the window. He hadn’t drunk enough bourbon the night before to ensure he was knocked out fully when the sun rose, and he promised himself he wouldn’t make the same mistake again that evening. He had full intentions of getting blind drunk. He was glad to see that his sadness had overwhelmed even his usually unstoppable morning libido. It didn’t feel right to start the day jacking off when he would be spending most of it burying his brother and his son. He rolled over slightly so he could see Charlie. She was on her side, facing him, a slight frown on her face. He wished she was awake. He didn’t want to have to deal with any more of this day alone. Not that he could admit it to himself, but he needed her. She was the only thing keeping him from climbing to the top of the water tower and jumping off.

He coughed deliberately, and was rewarded with her stirring slightly. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again to find her staring at him, a suspicious look in her blue eyes. He glanced away nonchalantly, stretching his arms out high and wide. “Hey,” he yawned.

“Morning,” Charlie said, yawning in response.

Their eyes met again, this time both with a look of sadness. They both knew what the day would entail.

Bass got up wordlessly and went into the kitchen to fix them some breakfast. Charlie took the opportunity to change into her new set of clothes. She knew she might get a little dirty, filling in the graves, but nothing compared to the work of digging them. She wandered into the kitchen and grabbed the bowl that Bass had set out for her. “Thanks,” she mumbled through a mouthful of oats. He nodded, focussed on his own food.

They dawdled a little. Bass got on his new clothes too, while Charlie washed up. Before long, they found themselves outside in the new dawn, both holding a stack of plain white sheets. Bass led the way to the house, which was now just a pile of bricks, ash, and bones. Charlie didn’t look too closely. They grabbed the trolley from where they had left it sitting outside, and pushed it down to the butcher’s.

Charlie pushed the trolley in through the front door, and into the back area, to the door of the cold store. Bass opened the freezer door, and they were both relieved that the smell was still bearable. There lay their five loved ones. They carried the sheets in and worked together to gently wrap each of the bodies, a little easier now that rigor mortis had set in. Charlie took a moment with each one, to look upon their faces and kiss them each gently on the cheek, before covering them with the sheet. Bass watched her, but couldn’t look for more than a second at each of the faces. It was too much for him to deal with. He didn’t want to remember them like this. He forced happier memories into his mind. Miles and him on their first days in Iraq, in the dry heat, surrounded by sand, playing football with the other Marines on base. Connor and him, the days making their way back from Mexico, getting to know each other. As awkward as it was, it was a happy memory for Bass, as they were both so full of hope. He clung to those thoughts, as they finished wrapping the bodies.

They then set about ferrying the bodies to the gravesite, one at a time on the trolley, to maintain as much dignity as they could. They left them each to rest under the shade of the trees as the sun slowly climbed higher in the sky. Eventually all five bodies lay in the garden, and Charlie and Monroe lifted each one over to their individual graves and placed them as gently as they could into the depths, although it wasn’t exactly easy.

“I want to say something,” Charlie said firmly, almost as a challenge to Monroe. He nodded. He was barely keeping the tears in at this point, and he knew it was a losing battle.

Charlie stepped up to the first grave on the left. “Priscilla Pittman. I didn’t know you very well, not until this last journey we made together from Washington to here. But I know Aaron loved you very much, and he was overjoyed that he found you again. And I enjoyed the times we spent together chatting as we walked along. Your daughters sounded wonderful, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to meet them somehow. I’m sure that they will always remember you with love.”

She moved along one grave. “Aaron Pittman.” Her voice broke a little, but she took a deep breath, calming herself enough to continue. “You are one of the most important people in my entire life, and you always will be. You taught me so much. Not just at school, although that was good too, but so much about life before the Blackout. And about how to be strong, even when you’re scared of everything. Even bees.” She let out a small laugh. “You were always there for me, and you will always be in my heart. You’re family.”

Bass looked desperately up at the sun, trying to keep himself together, and stop the tears from falling. It didn’t really help.

Charlie stepped along again, to the middle grave. “Rachel.” She paused, and then said quietly, “Mom.” Bass took a step closer to her, in a subconscious show of support. She nodded, acknowledging him without looking at him, and then said, “You drove me crazy, so much of the time. I know it wasn’t easy between us. I know you probably wished that it was me who died, not Danny. I can’t do anything about that. But I know you did love me, and you wanted to do the best for me you could. And in the end, that’s exactly what you did. You saved me. You saved the world. You did exactly what you wanted to do.” She smiled as the tears ran freely down her face. “I love you Mom. I always will.”

She moved to the fourth grave, and Bass found himself saying, “Wait. Stop.” He lifted his hands up and rubbed his face. He dropped his hands and looked up to see Charlie gazing sadly at him. “You should speak,” she said. “You loved Miles more than anyone.”

He nodded quickly, and moved to stand beside her. She reached out awkwardly, and rested her hand briefly on his shoulder. He choked back a sob, and then stood up straight, pulling his shoulders back, and shoved the tears down as best he could. “Miles. Brother.” Bass began. “You asshole. I can’t believe you actually left me. Again. You know how much it broke me last time.” He stared ruefully into the hole, at the white sheet covering the man he loved so much, the man who had been his only family for so many years. “You were my brother from the beginning. From the day we met, to the day we became blood brothers. The day we enlisted. The day we shipped out. The day-“ Bass broke down, folding over with his hands on his knees, sobbing. Charlie reached out her hand, unsure what to do. Bass shook his head violently, waving her away. He gathered himself, straightened back up, and then continued. “The day you found me in that cemetery and took my gun away.”

He felt Charlie’s eyes on him, and realised she might not know that story, but he didn’t care. “You saved me, brother. I followed you after the Blackout, and I’d do it again. We made something together, Miles. Something great. I know it all went to shit, but for a while, it was really something. We changed things. We did what we had to do to make things better.” He smiled sadly. “I forgive you for leaving, brother. I know I was all fucked up. But I’m so glad we came back together after that.” He looked over at Charlie, and their eyes locked for a long moment; both remembering that night in the rain, when he had told her that she would take him to Miles, that she didn’t have a choice. Bass then looked down again at his brother. “This last year or so, with me and you, buddy, it’s been great. I wish we could have had more time together, I do, but its just the way, isn’t it. I just gotta improvise, adapt, overcome.” Bass sighed. “I promise I’ll take care of your daughter. Whether she wants me to or not.” He felt Charlie stiffen a little, and then grin. He nodded slowly. There was so much left to say, but that was all he could manage. He stood at attention and saluted briefly, then dropped his hand to his side. “Semper Fi, brother.” They both stood there quietly for a moment, and Bass felt Charlie take his hand. He squeezed it lightly in gratitude, and she squeezed back. She then said quietly, “Miles, I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye, but we had some pretty good times together, didn’t we? You were a pretty good dad even though we didn’t even know you were one.” She squeezed Bass’s hand again, and added, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this schmuck for you.”

Bass swallowed. He thought saying goodbye to Miles would be the hardest, but he felt as if his heart was being ripped in two as the two of them moved to stand at Connor’s grave. Charlie gripped his hand tightly, and said, “Connor, I hope you really did find joy and peace here. I know we had our moments, but I like to think of you being happy. Just know that you were loved. Your dad loved you, more than you could ever know.” She looked up at Bass, and saw his face crumpled up, his eyes filled with tears, and she knew he was barely holding it together. “Bass, you gotta say goodbye,” she said gently.

He nodded. He took a few moments to calm himself, and then said, “Connor, my boy, I wish things had been different, that I knew about you sooner, that I could have been there to watch you grow up. That you could have known me, from the beginning, not just as this fucked up, broken mess.” Charlie’s heart broke for Bass in that moment, as he laid himself bare. He continued, “But life is life. And I still got to meet you, and spend time with you, and see the man you had become. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t get the Republic back for you. That I didn’t keep my promise to you. I’ll always be sorry for that. And I’m sorry that this is where you ended up. I hope you were happy here, but if you weren’t, I hope you find peace now. You’re with family. Give my love to Emma. Tell her how sorry I am. I love you son.”

Bass then strode over to the garden, picked one of the yellow flowers growing there, and threw it into the hole, where it landed on top of his son’s body. Charlie watched him, and then followed his lead, doing the same for Aaron, Priscilla, and Rachel. Bass threw the final one into Miles’s grave. The two of them turned to each other, and without speaking, stepped up close and wrapped their arms around each other. They stood there for a long moment, as the tears streaked down both their faces, and the birds sang in the trees around them, and a light breeze rustled the leaves. They just stood there.

Eventually one of them let go, although neither could have told you which it was. Then they picked up the shovels, and started filling in the graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That was an emotional thing to write. I actually shed a tear at one point, what a sap! (Bass breaking down when he gets to Miles saving him in the cemetery, if you're curious). I only meant to write some of this but couldn't stop, which means its now *way* past my bedtime. I was originally going to have this chapter cover the night after the funeral as well, but I felt this was a good place to stop. It's probably full of typos, but I'll come back and fix it later, I just wanted to get it posted.
> 
> Thanks for your views, kudos, and comments so far. As always, I love hearing your thoughts, so keep 'em coming.


	6. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass and Charlie drink their pain away, which leads to a decision about their future.

Charlie and Bass stood there in the park, surveying their work. The five graves lay in front of them, neatly filled and patted down.

"What about crosses, for the graves?" Charlie asked Bass.

He frowned. "I'm not sure. I'm not much of a carpenter."

"We can come up with something," Charlie said firmly, and he nodded. "But not right now," she added. Bass turned to look at her, and their eyes locked. He understood immediately that she was giving him a pass for the rest of the day. It was early afternoon, and there was only one thing he could think of to do; the only thing he knew to do when grief like this hit. He glanced back toward the main street. "Have you seen a bar, anywhere here?" he asked frankly.

They went searching, and found one on a side street. Bass kicked in the door, which was relatively flimsy and splintered with the impact of his boot. They walked in and surveyed the place. It seemed like a pretty standard sort of dive bar. The alcohol had been pillaged a bit, which was a shame, but there was still plenty enough available for them to drown their sorrows that day. Bass stepped behind the bar, and Charlie climbed onto a bar stool in front of the long-dead bar taps. "What'll it be?" Bass asked gruffly. Charlie shrugged. "Whatever you're having, I guess."

Bass went through the bottles remaining on the shelf, which were mostly the flavoured liqueurs. Damned if he was going to drink to his brother and his son on their burial day with fucking peach schnapps. He then spotted a bottle of Jägermeister. "This'll do," he muttered. "Although I wish we had Red Bull." He poured two glasses and slid one over to Charlie.

"What's Red Bull?" she asked. He frowned. The kid really needed a better education on pre-Blackout life. "It was a sweet, carbonated energy drink," he explained. "Usually when you drank Jägermeister, you had a Jager bomb, where you dropped a shot of this shit into a glass of Red Bull."

Charlie took a sip and wrinkled her nose. "I'm guessing it made it taste better."

"Honestly, not really? Red Bull was sickly sweet. But it's just what you did." He slammed the glass. "I am way too sober right now." He poured himself another.

Charlie stood up, holding her glass. "I'm going to take a look around."

Bass shrugged, and watched her as she found a door that presumably led to the staff only area. He leaned back against the glass of the high fridges behind him and sighed. Miles was gone. He never really believed that it'd happen, that Miles would die before him. Not that he would admit it to anyone, but Miles had always been the better swordsman. It infuriated him that his brothers' demise was due to a cowardly sneak attack, and by that insipid douchebag Truman, of all people. Bass took a small comfort in the fact that he had immediately exacted revenge on his brother's killer, and mentally relived that moment when he stabbed Truman through the heart.

Bass was very good at killing, and most of the time he didn't think a second thought about his victims; but he knew he would carry that particular kill with him for the rest of his days.

"Monroe? Come check this out," Charlie shouted. He lifted himself off the fridge and walked toward the sound of her voice, through the door into the back area. He found her in a small office, standing in front of a safe. The safe door was open, and Monroe grinned when he saw what was inside. "That's good stuff, right?" Charlie asked confidently, and then looked over and grinned at him. He grinned back. "Yeah, kid, you did good. Wait, was the safe open?"

"No," Charlie said. "But Miles taught me to look around offices for bits of paper with numbers on them. I've found a couple guns that way."

Bass laughed. He'd told Miles to do that in the early years of the Blackout. And it had worked out for him today, he thought, as he reached in and wrapped his hand around the closest bottle and pulled it out, gazing at it contentedly. "Now this is what we should be toasting family with," he asserted.

The bottle that Bass was holding, as well as the other three bottles in the safe, were all Lagavulin 16; Islay single malt scotch whisky, aged sixteen years. He and Miles had tried it out after seeing Ron Swanson drinking it on Parks and Rec - another sitcom they had watched - and had loved it immediately. It became their go-to whisky. He felt a tear come to his eye. It felt like a twist of fate that Charlie should have found these bottles on the day they buried Miles, and the rest of their family.

Bass strode back out to the bar, grabbed a couple of glasses, and then sat down at a booth. Charlie followed him back out and slid into the seat opposite. "To Miles," he toasted, and she raised her glass in support, holding eye contact with him for a moment before taking a sniff and then a sip. "Wow," she said. "This actually tastes pretty good."

"Yeah it does," Bass nodded in appreciation. "Miles loved this one. This one time, we both got totally wasted on it. I passed out before he did. The next morning, we both wake up, all good right?" Charlie nodded, puzzled as to the point of the story, as Bass started chuckling. "OK so like, a week later, Miles gets this package delivered to barracks, and he'd bought a lifesize inflatable sheep, a set of handcuffs, and some cherry-flavoured lube. Our commanding officer came in as he was pulling it out of the box. Oh and our commanding officer at the time was a woman. The look on her face-" He broke into raucous laughter, tears running out of his eyes.

Charlie raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help but grin. "Why did he do that?"

Bass couldn’t stop laughing. “He didn’t even know! He thought he might have had some kind of idea for a prank on me, but he couldn’t remember what it was.”

Charlie laughed. “Did you guys play pranks on each other a lot?”

Bass wiped the tears from his eyes, and nodded, smiling. “Yeah, we did a few good ones in our time.”

“Like what?” Charlie liked hearing about this side of Miles. The light-hearted version of her uncle, dad, whoever.

“Uh…” Bass tried to think of an example that he thought would be appropriate. The story about the peyote and the hooker in Tijuana was probably less so. “Oh, I got one. When we were in Iraq, Miles had hung up a blanket and a couple towels around his bunk for some privacy. We’d had a long day in the sun, so after a few beers, he passes out. I grabbed some tape, stuck them altogether, and basically sealed him in there. Then the next morning I got our lieutenant to come in while he was still asleep and yell ‘inspection!’. Miles freaks out, tries to get out of his bunk but he can’t get through the taped up blankets. So he starts kicking frantically at them, trying to get out. The lieutenant strolls up to his bunk, and is like ‘Matheson! What are you doing? This is not protocol.’ Miles has just managed to tear a bit of a gap between the blankets, so he twists up a bit and gets his head and arm out, and salutes the guy, in total panic. It was hilarious.” Bass shook his head, laughing at the memory.

Charlie wanted to contribute a story, so she told Bass about when she first met Miles, and she convinced him to let a bounty hunter go – the same bounty hunter that then tracked them down a day or so later and almost took Miles prisoner. “He was so pissed at me,” Charlie said. “I’d never do it now, but I was naïve then.”

“So that was when you came to find Danny, right?” Bass asked carefully. Charlie nodded. They’d never really spoken about her journey to Philadelphia before, it was just one of the many topics that felt too awkward to bring up. But she didn’t feel so bad about it now. The Monroe sitting across from her felt like a totally different person from the General that she had been so terrified of when she set out on that life-changing journey.

Seeing that she wasn’t freezing up at the mention of Danny, Bass thought he’d try his luck. He was a little curious about how everything had gone down, but never thought it a good idea to ask. “So you went and found Miles after Ben died. With Aaron, right?”

“And Maggie,” Charlie said.

“Maggie?”

“She was kind of like my stepmom, I guess?” Charlie explained. “She was a doctor, from England. Dad met her one day and I think she was having a pretty hard time, so he invited her to come with us, and then eventually they ended up together.”

“What happened to her?” Bass asked, although he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

“She died,” Charlie sighed. “She got stabbed in the leg by this crazy guy at this creepy old amusement park. Aaron tried to save her, but he couldn’t. She had lost too much blood.”

“So you, Aaron, and Maggie, went to find Miles,” Bass observed. “He was working in a bar in Chicago, right? I had heard rumours. How did you convince him to go with you?”

Charlie thought back. “Actually, it was thanks to Jason, I guess,” she remarked.

“How does that work?”

“Jason had tricked me into thinking his name was Nate, and that he was just a good guy that wanted to tag along with us. Miles pegged him immediately as militia, so he escaped and went to find the rest of the militia guys. Basically, I blew Miles’s cover, so he didn’t have that much of a choice. He couldn’t stay in that bar anymore, anyway. So he agreed to help us, as long as we got Nora to help us.”

“Oh, so that’s how she fit in? She wasn’t with Miles at the time? I wasn’t sure.”

“No, I think they’d split up quite a bit before that. She had gotten herself taken prisoner by the militia so she could steal a sniper rifle. We helped her do it, and then we found she was working with the Rebels.”

Charlie continued to recount the tales of their journey toward Philadelphia, Bass listening quietly and occasionally interjecting to ask questions. It was fascinating to hear what their travels had been like. When Charlie got to the part about rescuing the boy from the conscription boat, Bass sat up a little straighter. He winced as she explained how she got her militia branding. He had often wondered how that had come about, given that as far as he knew, Charlie had never been part of the militia. It had always seemed a little crass to ask how she had ended up with his mark burnt into her skin, to be honest, and it used to make him uncomfortable to think about those days much. He knew he had lost the plot by the time she turned up in Philadelphia. There was just too much pressure on him from all sides, and he didn’t have Miles around anymore to help him keep his head straight. He used to truly hate himself for it, which is why he was happy being Jimmy King. Part of him felt that every punch he took was retribution for the terrible things he had done. Now, he had come to peace with it all, as much as he ever could. At least he had been here in Bradbury to help Rachel put a stop to the nanotech destroying humanity. He’d done that right, at least.

“So that’s it, basically,” Charlie said. “You know the rest. We snuck in through the tunnels, then me, Aaron, and Nora got captured when we were waiting for Miles’ at Kip’s place. I got taken to meet mum and Danny at that industrial plant or whatever, and that’s when I met you.” Her blue eyes locked onto his, and they both went silent as they recalled that particular day. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

_Charlie looks up to see an older man in a impeccably clean uniform strolling into the room._

_“Hello Charlotte; it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m General Monroe.”_

_…_

_“Pick me!”_

_Monroe stares at the fiery blonde girl in front of him, willingly volunteering to die to save her brother, to stop him getting power._

Charlie remembers the fear, and anger, and loathing she felt that day. She doesn’t want to go into detail about any of it to Monroe; the thing she promises herself she will never tell him is how she thought he was kind of handsome when he first walked in; how he seemed almost kind when he first spoke to her. For just a moment, she wondered what all the fuss was about. But then he turned on her mother, and she saw the cold evil in his eyes, and she knew he had to be stopped. These days… that evil was gone. She thought maybe it had disappeared the minute that Monroe found out about the Patriots nuking Philadelphia. It was definitely gone when she woke up to find him gazing at her, in the depths of that swimming pool, even though she hadn’t realised it at first. He wasn’t the same man anymore as he had been that day with Rachel and Danny.

Meanwhile, Monroe remembers the frustration he felt that day. Rachel had jerked him along for long enough; he was sick of her games, and frustrated that she was always smarter than him, always one step ahead. He doesn’t see any point in telling Charlie about that. He also has no intention of telling her his first impression of the grown up Charlotte. Long gone was the tiny princess in pink taffeta. Monroe was shocked but impressed when she stood up so defiantly to Strausser’s gun. In that moment, he realised, she had reminded him of Miles, although a much more idealistic version. Up until that moment, he had thought of her as some unimportant bargaining chip he could use against Rachel, but when she stood up and told Strausser to pick her – to shoot her – he couldn’t help but stare. She was magnificent, and he felt a grudging respect for her. That respect had never gone away. In fact, it had just continued to grow, from the moment he opened his eyes and saw her tied up opposite him in that pool.

Monroe lifted his glass, and swallowed the last mouthful, then poured himself another. He saw Charlie’s glass was getting low, and topped her up. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“So,” he said, wanting to change the subject, “Aaron stuck with you the whole time, huh? That’s pretty impressive. I wouldn’t have picked him as the type.”

Charlie smiled warmly at the mention of Aaron. “Yeah, to be honest, neither did I, at the beginning,” she admitted. “But he stuck with us, the whole time. Even though I am certain the entire trip was completely out of his comfort zone. You know he used to be super rich, right? Before the Blackout?”

“Yeah,” Monroe said. “I think I had actually heard of him, as one of those technological geniuses, or whatever. He worked for Google, right?”

“Yeah, the computer thing.”

Bass grinned, and she frowned at him. “Shut up.”

“Sorry, it’s just funny. Must be weird to not remember what it was like before.”

“Actually, I’m glad I don’t,” Charlie confessed. “This life is normal to me. I don’t miss anything before because I don’t really remember it.”

“There must be things you’d like to have been able to do, though?”

Charlie cocked her head and thought for a moment. “Movies, I guess. I would have liked to see all the movies that you guys loved.” Bass smiled. They might have had something in common. “And travel,” she added.

“To where?” Bass asked, curiously.

“Anywhere, to be honest,” Charlie said wistfully. “I used to collect postcards, of big cities and faraway places. I want to see mountains, and beaches, and jungles. I want to swim in the ocean.”

Bass paused. “Wait, you haven’t swum in the ocean?”

Charlie stared at him like he was an idiot. “No, Monroe. When would I have had a chance to do that, exactly? Hitched a ride on a train heading to Florida for a weekend while we were fighting the Patriots, perhaps?”

“Okay, okay,” Bass acquiesced. “Geez.”

They both took a drink, and then Charlie said, “Tell me about Connor.”

Bass looked down into his glass. “Like what? You probably know as much as I do. More, given what I caught you two doing in New Vegas.”

Charlie shot him an annoyed look, and shook her head.

“What?” Bass responded, grumpily. “I figured you guys must be having all kinds of heart to hearts.”

Charlie snarked, “It wasn’t that kind of relationship. He was cute, I was bored. End of story.”

Monroe fixed his ice blue eyes on her. “End of story, huh?”

Charlie almost blushed, although she wasn’t sure why. “Yes, end of story. Look, do you want to talk about your son, or not?”

Monroe nodded. “Okay. Fine. Well – first let me tell you about Emma.”

It was Charlie’s turn to sit and listen as Monroe talked about Emma, about how Miles met her first and started dating her, but how he and her had grown close too. About the night when Miles got drunk and passed out, and they gave in to their feelings. He talked about going away to Basic training, and having to hear Miles mope about how she had stopped messaging him, without being able to admit that she wasn’t talking to him anymore either and how much that had sucked. Then he told her about going to find Connor in Mexico, and how it had all gone down. Charlie had wondered about how Monroe had ended up with the crisscross of scars on his back, but grimaced as he told the story. She could see that Monroe really did love his son and was truly grieving his death. As he finished the story by explaining exactly why Connor had left, and why he hadn’t gone after him, Charlie felt a deep sadness for him. Their story had really been a disaster from start to finish. She was starting to feel pretty drunk, which she knew was not a good thing, particularly in this scenario, as sad as she was by the day’s events. She was an upbeat drunk until she wasn’t, at which point she tended to become hopeless snarky and morose. She suddenly thought now that perhaps she had got that particular trait from Miles.

She stared into the depths of her glass. Fuck it. She reached over for the bottle and poured herself another, taking care to top Monroe’s right up.

“Ok,” she said, “Now tell me about you and Miles. Before the Blackout. Deploying and everything.”

Bass nodded, and launched into the tale from the first day they met, in first grade. Charlie listened, and drank, while Bass spoke, and drank. By the time he reached the Blackout, Charlie was completely hammered. “Cool,” she mumbled, trying to prop her head up with her hand. “Then what?”

Bass suddenly stood up. “Then you drank some water, and went to bed, I think.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Charlie insisted. She tried to stand up, but felt her head spinning and dropped back onto the seat. “Ok maybe some water.”

Bass found their canteens. He took the lid off Charlie’s and held it to her mouth, she took it and had a decent drink, then plonked it back down on the table. “Okay, good now,” she slurred, then rested her head on the table and closed her eyes.

“Let’s get you home,” Bass said. “Believe me, you do not want to sleep there. It’ll kill your neck.”

“Okay,” Charlie mumbled. She tried to stand up again, this time managing to stumble out of the booth, but then wavered about as if she was about to fall over. Bass slid out and grabbed her, hooking her arm over his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he said. He and Charlie made their way to the door and back out onto the dark and silent street. He steered her carefully towards their house, and into the bedroom.

“Bed,” she said contentedly, and then started pulling off her clothes.

Bass couldn’t help but look for a moment as she drew her top off, revealing the new black bra trimmed with lace supporting ample cleavage. “Damn,” he blurted out. She did have a great rack.

“Like what you see?” she responded, seemingly attempting to be sultry, but then she burped. “Whoops.” She started fumbling at the buttons of her jeans.

“Get in bed, Charlie,” Bass told her. “I’ll get you a glass of water. And maybe a bucket.” He shot out of the room before he could see any more, and he decided it would be best if he slept in the spare room that night.

…

It was the pounding in her temples that woke Charlie up, rather than the sun streaming in through the curtains. She had clearly slept relatively late. The moment she opened her eyes she wished she had slept longer. “Ughh,” she groaned. She noticed Monroe wasn’t next to her, and when she sat up, she was immediately grateful for that, as she realised she had gone to bed in just bra and panties. She tried to remember the end of the night, but she only had a vague memory of Monroe helping her home. _Nothing would have happened though, surely,_ she thought. Charlie shook her head to clear the thought, and groaned again. She saw a glass of water sitting on the bedside table next to her, and grabbed at it gratefully, sculling the entire glass in one go. She put the glass back down and then climbed out of bed and pulled her clothes back on. The jeans were a little grubby around the bottom, but they were okay. The top was fine. _At least I didn’t throw up on myself,_ she thought, but just the thought of it made her feel nauseous.

She made her way out to the kitchen and poured herself another glass of water from the tap. This running water thing was pretty handy. She looked around for Bass, but she couldn’t see him, or hear him, for that matter. She shrugged; she knew he would be back. She made her way to the couch and huddled up on it, holding the glass of water to her head. “Stop hurting,” she said blearily.

Maybe half an hour later, Bass came bounding in the door. “Oh good, you’re up,” he said when he saw Charlie still curled up on the couch.

“Barely,” she responded. “How are you not dead right now? You drank more than me, I’m sure.”

“I’m a man, Charlotte,” Monroe reminded her. “And a Marine. I can hold my liquor.” She stared at him, stony faced. He grinned. “Also, I threw up. It helped.” She laughed, and then winced at the resulting pain in her temples.

She noticed he was wearing a different shirt, a charcoal grey ribbed one with a few buttons at the neck. “Nice shirt,” she commented.

“Yeah, so I threw up on the other one,” he confessed. “Never mind. This one will be better for travelling anyway.”

“Travelling?” she asked, frowning. “Travelling where?”

“To the ocean,” Bass announced. “Obviously.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Um – what?”

“You told me last night you’d never been to the ocean, and that you wanted to swim in one. Don’t you remember?”

She did, vaguely. “So what – we’re just gonna get up and walk to the ocean? Because I want to swim in it?”

“Well, why not?” Bass asked. “Seriously. We don’t have anything else to do, or anywhere else we want to go. Do we?” He shrugged, and stared at her with those ice-blue eyes.

Charlie shrugged. “I guess not.” She smiled. “Look at you, Monroe, coming up with all the plans.”

“Yeah and not only that, I’ve been solving our other problem. Come with me.” He jerked his head towards the front door, and then turned to walk outside.

She was intrigued, despite herself. She stopped at the kitchen tap to refill her glass of water and then strolled outside after him. “Ugh,” she complained. “The sunlight is way too bright.”

“Yeah, I thought we should find some sunglasses here before we go,” Bass remarked.

He led her back to the garden where they had buried their family the day before. As they walked into the shady green space, she saw that each grave now had a rudimentary cross at the head of it, two straight-ish branches nailed together for each one. In addition, there was a jar at the foot of the cross, with a piece of paper rolled up inside. “What’s that?” she asked.

“I thought we could write a little epitaph for them,” Bass said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “What do you think?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I think it’s perfect.”

They spent some time working out what to write. Neither of them were great wordsmiths, and so they decided to keep all of the notes simple. They ended up with:

_Priscilla Pittman (died 2030) Mother of two beautiful daughters. A beloved wife._

_Aaron Pittman (1987 – 2030) A computer genius pre-Blackout; a wonderful, loyal friend always._

_Rachel Matheson (1984 – 2030) Loved wife and mother with a truly brilliant mind._

_Miles Matheson (1981 – 2030) A brother, a father, a Marine, and a good man._

_Connor Bennett (2001 – 2030) A beloved son, who died at peace._

Charlie wrote each one out carefully, and then passed each of them to Monroe, who rolled them up, put them in the jars, and screwed the lids on as tightly as he could. He put the jars gently back down at the foot of each cross.

“Thank you for this,” Charlie said, her hangover forgotten as she looked at the graves. She realised that this might be the last time she ever would. Bass stood there awkwardly at her side, and his right hand caressing his left arm in a fidgety fashion. She looked over at him and then reached out and hugged him. He hesitated for a moment and then hugged her back.

They drew apart, and then looked at each other. “Now what?” Charlie asked.

“Now we go looking for anything we might need, and get the hell out of this godforsaken town,” Bass said.

They set out walking west the next day.

Neither looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That kind of sounds like an ending, but don't worry, it isn't. I still have plenty more for them in store.


	7. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the second half of this chapter to improve the situation that Charlie and Bass were left in, because the previous iteration left too many loose ends for me to be comfortable with continuing the story the way I wanted to. I also rewrote the fight scene because I don't think the previous one was as realistic. 
> 
> The next chapter shouldn't be too far away.

Bass and Charlie walked steadily south, doing their best to avoid any settlements. They found themselves in a routine fairly quickly, given that they were used to each other’s' company, and knew each other’s ways. They had spent plenty of time together after all, although usually there was at least Miles present as well. After the devastating events of Bradbury, both of them found themselves clamming up about their friends and family. No more heartfelt stories about Miles, or Aaron, or anyone else. They got up with the sun, and ate the oats that Monroe had stuffed in his pack. They were getting low, but oats were a treat these days, and they were accepting that they would have to go back to their usual fare soon enough. They walked roughly 15-20 miles a day by Charlie's estimation, avoiding main highways and anywhere else that felt as if it could be populated. They were both fit and strong, with comfortable boots and packs, and so they were both capable of making good time. Neither of them spoke much; mostly it was observations about the terrain, or suggestions for stopping points, or identifications of any cause for concern. They were both exhausted by the recent trauma. Charlie found herself feeling a little more light-hearted with every mile they walked away from the cursed town. She had to grudgingly admit to herself that Monroe was right to get them back on the move. It would have been easy to stay there in that town, in their little house; visiting the graves of their family and friends every day, never moving on from mourning. But they could mourn their dead anywhere, and Charlie realised once they left that the little town was suffocating her slowly, pushing her down with oppressive grief. Being back out in the fresh air, walking steadily, back to their usual activity levels; it was the only thing that was keeping her going.

Charlie glanced over at Bass as he strode quietly next to her. His blond curls were matted a little to his head with sweat. His face was hard, but not cruel; she could see that his eyes were distant, and that his mind was trapped in some sorrowful memory. The coarse golden hair on his forearms glinted in the sunlight. He had found a couple more items of clothing to take with him, as had she, and he was presently wearing a simple light grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sweat patches under his arms were the only nod to the physicality of their activity; Bass was in excellent shape and never seemed fatigued by the incessant walking. She pondered for a moment, as she often did, the difficulty posed by him being the only person she had left in the world. It wasn't that she hated him, or even disliked him; it was that he still seemed to be such an enigma to her. She wanted to get to know him better. She wanted to understand him. She wasn't sure how to do that, except with time. Perhaps the Lagavulin 16. Bass had taken two of the bottles, and she was carrying one. Having whisky that actually tasted good made carrying the extra weight worth it for sure. Surprisingly, they hadn't drunk any of it so far, or any other liquor. She had wondered if every night they would attempt to drink themselves into oblivion. But in actuality, they had fallen into a simple routine at night also. While she went hunting, Bass went searching for firewood and foraging for any fruit or vegetables that were around; he then prepared the fire and set up their bedrolls. She would return with what she caught and he would help her with the butchering, then cook whatever they had for dinner. He was capable at both the butchering and the cooking and she didn't mind him assisting her, or taking over the fire duties. Once they were done, they were usually quite tired from the long days of walking. He had brought a book with him and read until it was impossible to make out words in the fading sunlight, and then he would grunt a rough "goodnight Charlotte" and lie down to sleep. Charlie also had a book with her, but she hadn't been that inspired to read it yet. Instead, she sat by the fire and sharpened her knives or arrowheads, trying not to think about those she had lost. It was a difficult battle, usually lost. What else was there to think about, after all? 

They both had nightmares. Charlie knew from Miles that it was best not to try and wake Bass up as he thrashed about in his bedroll, his face contorted in anger or sadness, indistinguishable sounds passing his lips. It was hard to watch him like that, as she found herself wondering what horrors were dancing through his mind. Was he dreaming about the people he had killed? The struggles that he had inflicted on others? Or was it the struggles that he had endured, the deaths of the people he had loved? She never asked him, as she was sure he wouldn't tell her anyway. He usually woke himself up with his thrashing about, and Charlie would lie watching him with one eye half open as his body would still and he would wipe the night sweats off his forehead and the tears from his eyes, drinking heavily from his canteen before lying back down to return to a weary slumber. She wondered what she was like during her nightmares. Did she toss and turn, or whimper? Did Bass even know that she had them?

Bass always woke up when Charlie was having nightmares. He didn't think she was aware how vocal she was in her sleep, often calling out for Miles, or Aaron, sometimes even Rachel. She was never overly loud, which he was grateful for; he didn't need her drawing attention from anyone passing by, any more than their fire did at least. But he usually felt a sharp pain in his chest when he heard her call for Miles. Bass knew how much she missed her biological father, and he also knew that Miles was never coming back. Charlie's nightmares always reminded him of that fact, and left him in despair, more often than not. Every night he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He had always been an emotional person; he had learned to control himself when he was the head of the Militia and knew the emotion made him look weak, but here, in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Plains Nation, as they lay under the stars, he let himself cry quietly. For his brother Miles, and for his son Connor. Letting his emotion out in such a tangible way at night helped him cope during daylight hours. He was adamant that he did not want to cry in front of Charlie. Not again. She had enough to deal with herself and he did not want to make himself so vulnerable to her. Plus it was just embarrassing. Wasn’t he meant to be a sociopath? All these feelings he was having just felt unbecoming.

Late in the afternoon of the fifth day of walking, they found themselves at the crest of a small hill, overlooking a village. It was clearly occupied, with people walking back and forth between the buildings, and the vibe felt relaxed. Bass glanced at Charlie, and she returned his gaze; their wordless glances suggested that both thought it might be a good idea to enter the small township. Bass wanted to see if he could switch out his book there, as he’d just finished the one he had brought. Charlie felt like she needed to engage with other human beings or she might go a little crazy. They nodded almost imperceptibly to each other, and then began to make their way down the hill towards the little town.

As they hiked in on the main road, both were on edge, prepared for trouble, but it seemed that they were being overly cautious. The couple of people who passed them smiled politely as they went about their business. Charlie asked a man standing in his front yard where they might be able to get a meal, and he pointed them down the street to the right. They found the inn easily enough. “Hey, we could even crash here the night, Charlie,” Bass said. She smirked at him; she never knew a leader of a militia could get so precious about pillows. “But of course the General must have his luxury,” she snarked gently, and he grinned back at her. “But of course,” he agreed easily.

They entered the inn, both smiling a little at the interaction, and found themselves a table near the bar. The waitress came over and immediately took a shine to Monroe, although he didn’t seem to notice. Charlie thought it probably happened all the time. He was a good-looking man after all, she knew that. She felt a strange twinge in the pit of her stomach, but resolutely ignored it. “Stew?” Monroe asked her directly, and she nodded. “And a couple of pints too,” he added. The waitress seemed to pick up on his disinterest, and her face fell slightly before she ceded defeat and made her way back to the kitchen. Charlie felt a slight triumphant smirk cross her face, but resolutely ignored that too.

Monroe tilted his head and looked at her with a strange expression. “What?” she asked him, gazing back firmly into those icy blue orbs. He shook his head. “Nothing.” He then busied himself with searching through his pack, finally finding what he was looking for. He’d managed to find a book of maps of the old United States in Bradbury before they left, and they were using it as a rough guide for their route to the ocean.

“I think this must be Tensed, or maybe De Smet?” he said uncertainly, running the point of his index finger along what he felt had been the route they had taken. Charlie had learned over the past few days that Monroe was not only a rubbish tracker, but also a terrible navigator. She now knew why Miles had always insisted on leading the way on their previous expeditions. Charlie wasn’t great with using the old maps either though, to be honest; she found it difficult to reconcile the flat representation of the land on the page with the world in front of her. She wasn’t too bothered if they weren’t taking the most direct route to the ocean, though. She knew they were heading in roughly the right direction, given the route of the sun across the sky each day. They would get there eventually; and it wasn’t like there was some sort of deadline, or a plan for once this goal was achieved. She didn’t remember the last time she didn’t have some sort of plan. Even back at Sylvania Estates, she had all sorts of plans; grandiose thoughts of travelling the continent to see as much as she could, mostly. She supposed that’s what she was doing now, although it turned out it wasn’t quite as she had imagined as she sat in her teenage bedroom, looking through postcards and dreaming of something bigger than the life she had. She smiled softly as she thought back to how impossibly naïve she had been.

She glanced back up to see Monroe still frowning at the map. The waitress came over with the pints. “Brewed right here in Tensed,” she said, in an attempt to draw his attention. He flicked his eyes up at the pints and then grinned triumphantly at Charlie. “Told you,” he said. The waitress sighed slightly and placed the two glasses on the table. She gave him another wistful glance at then stepped away. Monroe didn’t notice her reaction to him. He picked up his pint and toasted her with a cheeky grin. “See, I do know what I’m doing.” Charlie raised her glass to him but rolled her eyes in response. They both took a sip of their beers. “Not bad,” Charlie said impassively.

Monroe nodded, but he was clearly doing calculations in his head. She watched him as he crunched numbers, and almost laughed as he stuck his tongue out slightly while he thought. It was oddly adorable, which is a word she would never have thought would apply to Monroe. She took a long drink of the beer, enjoying the taste.

“Okay, so if it took us five days to get from Bradbury to Tensed..” Monroe said, and paused, mentally rechecking his numbers. “We must be doing about sixteen miles a day on average. Not bad. So if we stick with the same pace, which I think we can?” he glanced up at her for confirmation, and she shrugged and nodded. Appeased, he continued, “I think we’ll get to the ocean in a little over a month. This is the best route; we will have to cross the Wasteland, but it’s at the narrowest part, from what I remember.” Charlie didn’t really care, so she just said, “Great, sounds good,” to humour him, and took another long drink. He spent a little more time reviewing the map and considering alternative routes, while she sat across from him and glanced around the bar. She saw a couple of men glance their way and mutter something between themselves, but she was used to it. Places like this always put her slightly on edge, but she could see that this place was nothing like the one in Pottsboro, having a much more homely vibe. Plus she had her saviour here with her this time, and she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t let a single thing happen to her. Those long elegant fingers of his would wrap around their throats and choke the life out of them if they tried anything. _Elegant fingers? What the hell, Charlie, are you drunk?_ She realised she was, a bit. These beers were strong. It was a nice feeling, to be honest. She was just tipsy enough to have lost a little of her edge, to feel more comfortable in this place, more comfortable with – _him._ She found herself staring at his hands again, and shook her head to distract herself.

Thankfully the waitress appeared again with their meals, which looked pretty good, if a little small. “Another pint for me, please,” Charlie said. She liked the taste of the beer, and she liked the way she was feeling. Monroe glanced over and she noticed he’d only had about a third of his so far. “Booze hag,” he remarked drily, and she shot him a snarky smile. “I learned from the best,” she countered, and he grinned. Feeling emboldened by their banter, she said, “Put the damn book away, Monroe. Eat your dinner and talk to me.” He gave her that strange look again, but nodded and tucked the map book into the front of his pack. He picked up his spoon, dipping it into the stew and stirring it carefully. “What you want to talk about?” he asked.

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know, anything. Tell me the plot of that book you were reading.”

Monroe grinned, and took a large mouthful of stew, chewing steadily. When he finished, he looked back up at her and said, gesturing with his spoon, “You know, you could just read it yourself.”

“I told you, I’m not a big reader,” Charlie said. This was a discussion they’d had before. “Plus I know you love to hear yourself talk.” She laughed, and spooned a large serving of stew into her mouth.

Monroe raised his eyebrow. “Well, that is true. I’m just surprised, is all. Your mom and dad were such nerds. I figured the trait for loving books and learning would have passed down to you.”

“Miles read books?” Charlie snarked back. Monroe’s quiet, “Yes, actually,” took her by surprise. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. He continued, “Miles got me into reading, once we enlisted. I was never into it at school or anything, but we had a bunch of downtime, and he picked out a couple books he thought I’d like. I came around pretty quickly. We read a lot of strategy books, and military fiction, but other stuff too. The former came in handy when we started the militia. The rest – well, it’s nice to transport yourself to another world, occasionally, isn’t it?”

Charlie had the grace to look embarrassed. “I guess,” she conceded. “It was more Danny’s thing than mine, though. He was the one who loved books and learning and everything. I just wanted to be outside, exploring and hunting and stuff.”

“Well, that definitely comes from Miles,” Bass said. “Rachel was never much of an outdoorsy person, I guess until she had to be.”

Charlie wasn’t in the mood to talk about her mother. “Just tell me about the damn book, Monroe,” she complained. He took the hint and began to explain the story to her.

An hour later, she was four beers down. Or was it five? They were laughing over some stupid story about Miles trying to impress a woman by telling her he regularly read Russian literature, only to find out she was a college professor who taught the topic. Charlie liked the light that came to Monroe’s eyes when he talked about Miles. The candles on their table were casting a warm light across his face, and she found herself lazily watching him as he talked. He really was a good-looking man. She felt that strange twist in her stomach again and ordered another beer.

Half an hour more and Monroe realised that Charlie was drunk; but she was a different kind of drunk than he was used to from her. The drinking they’d done back in Bradbury left her mostly sombre; but now she was more lively, ready with quick quips. Almost flirtatious, even. He caught himself at one point almost about to tuck her blonde hair behind her ear. _Jesus, Monroe, get it together. This is not some beautiful stranger in a bar, this is Miles’ kid._ He knew he was starved for attention, and the more open and flirtatious she was with him, the more he craved her touch. He’d always been that way when women flirted with him. _Anything to make you feel wanted, right Bass?_ Ugh, he was being pathetic. It was time the night came to an end.

“Alright, Charlie. Time we hit the hay, I think.” He was careful not to mention bed, and he was suddenly glad that the inn had told them that they had no rooms available. Originally he had been disappointed; he always loved sleeping on a soft mattress, between clean sheets. Clearly it was best they slept in their bedrolls tonight though. They had seen a barn on their way into town that appeared not to be in use, and so had both agreed they’d go back and sleep there since there were no rooms.

She pouted a little, an expression he found a little odd to see on her face. Definitely not the Charlie he was used to. As they got up from the table, she hoisted her pack onto her back, but it threw her off balance. As she stumbled, he caught her. She grabbed at his forearms to steady herself, and then looked up into his eyes. He realised with a start that she was tracing his skin with her thumb. _Surely not._ He stared down at her for a long moment, completely still, like a possum caught in headlights. She smiled at him, a sultry smile, which threw him even further, it was so un-Charlie-like. Still, he didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

She then leant closer into him, her mouth now only inches from his own. “Your move,” she murmured. For the briefest moment, he was captivated by the possibility of feeling her soft lips against his, but then his brain kicked in. This was a terrible idea. _Bass you absolute asshole, she is drunk and she will regret the fuck out of this. Fix it. Now._ “Charlie- ” he breathed. Her eyes flickered open and met his. “No. We can’t,” he murmured regretfully.

Charlie froze, and dropped down from her tiptoes. She abruptly withdrew her hand from his arm, and a look of pure mortification crossed her face. Bass swore internally. “Not like this, Charlie,” he said softly, pleadingly. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he also knew if he went along with her attempt to seduce him now, she would hate him later, and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t lose Charlie. He’d rather her just be angry and embarrassed than despise him altogether.

Charlie stepped backwards, and her face hardened. “Whatever. I don’t care.” She shuffled her pack for a moment, and then said loudly, “Asshole,” and marched out the exit. He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether he should follow her. _Shit._ They still had to settle their tab. He went over to the bar, and waited while a group of three men finished up with the barmaid. She glanced at him and winked, but didn’t notice his wince in return. Obviously she’d seen him and Charlie argue, and thought she might be in with a chance, but Bass wasn’t interested at all. He could only imagine how much worse it would be between him and Charlie if he took up with this barmaid, and while he hadn’t got laid in a while, he wasn’t that desperate quite yet.

She came over to him as the three men quickly exited the bar. “Hey there darling,” she said, and tilted her head. “Looks like you might need somewhere to stay tonight?” She winked again.

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” he said coolly. Disappointment flickered in her eyes. “Another drink, then?” A hopeful attempt.

“No, I’ll just settle up.” She realised that she wasn’t going to get lucky, and frowned. She took her time with him settling up, and he almost threw a whole diamond at her just to get out of there. Finally they were done, and he nodded amicably at her and then strode towards the exit, picking up his backpack with one hand on the way. _I gotta find Charlie and sort this out._ He wasn’t sure what had come over her. She was clearly drunk, so that was probably it. He rubbed his eyes in irritation as he pushed the door open, and as it swung shut behind him, he looked up. For a whole second, he stared at the tableau in front of him – Charlie with her wrists held behind her back by one of the men who had just left the bar, and another man snarling at him, holding a wicked looking knife. _Wait, weren’t there thr-._ **CLUNK**. Bass heard a dull noise and felt a heavy pain slam into his head. He felt himself drop to the ground, and saw stars spinning behind his eyelids. _What the fuck was that?_ He shook his head to clear it, but as he opened his eyes again, he still felt overly swirly. He raised his head and found the third man standing over him, grinning viciously and wielding a broken wine bottle. Jesus, thanks Bashy. So that was the cause of the splitting headache he now had. He could see the shards of glass lying around him and realised he would need a minute to steady himself before he could get up.

“Well, well, well,” the second man, the one with the knife – Bass decided to call him Stabby – remarked. Bass hated it when adversaries started conversations like Disney villains. Stabby continued, “Look who we have here.” Even worse. “Sebastian Monroe, ex-President of the Monroe Republic.” OK no, that was way worse than the rest of it.

“What?” He said blearily, his head still ringing from the impact of the wine bottle. “I’m Jimmy King.”

Stabby laughed cruelly. “No, you’re not.” His left hand reached for his right sleeve, and yanked it up. Monroe could see the Monroe brand clearly stamped into his arm. OK, that was worst of all. This guy knew who he was and had Militia training. And a seriously evil looking knife.

“Save your bullshit, Monroe,” the man holding Charlie growled. “You killed my wife.”

“Should I remember that?” Bass drawled. “I kill so many people, you see.” He watched the man’s face turn red, and mentally christened him Angry.

“How fucking dare you!” bellowed Angry. “You dropped a goddamn nuke on Philly and you fucking killed her, you animal!” His eyes glittered and he spat in Bass’s direction. Bass was glad to see it didn’t quite reach him. He really didn’t want a spit stain on his trousers.

Charlie took the opportunity while her assailant was fully distracted by Bass to attempt to free herself. Angry was standing just behind her, holding her right arm twisted up behind her back, his hand underneath her arm, with his left hand gripping hard onto her shoulder. She threw her left hand forward, almost as if punching the air, and stepped forward at the same time. Angry was jerked forward, his left arm forced straight, which immediately caused him to lose the grip on her shoulder. Charlie then spun back around towards the right, and easily broke his wrist hold by flicking her elbow over his right hand, almost into the crook of his elbow, which allowed her to slide her wrist out. At the same time, with her free hand, she slipped a knife from her hip guard, and stabbed it smoothly into his chest. The entire manoeuvre only took a few seconds, and Bass quietly marvelled at what an exceptional killer she had become.

Unfortunately, Stabby had militia training, of course, and reacted quickly, moving immediately forward. As Charlie was pulling her knife out of Angry’s chest, Stabby reached her and backhanded her heavily across the face. She stumbled backwards and dropped her knife, and he was on her in a moment, throwing his arm around her neck and dragging her upwards in a chokehold.

Meanwhile, Bass had realised that Bashy wasn’t nearly as capable as Stabby; he was watching gormlessly as Charlie freed herself from captivity. Bass wasn’t sure if his head was steady enough yet to get up, so figured it’d be better to bring Bashy down to him. Bass spun around and swept Bashy’s leg with his own, dropping him inelegantly to the ground. Unfortunately for Bass, as Bashy fell, he desperately tried to break his fall. He threw his arm out to stabilise himself while still holding the broken bottle, and it slashed viciously across Bass’s chest. Filled with adrenaline, Bass fought Bashy for the broken bottle, and endured another vicious slash across his shoulder before he took control of the vicious weapon. Just as Stabby reached around Charlie’s neck, Bass stabbed the remainder of the broken bottle into Bashy’s neck, and saw the blood spill out. Bashy choked and reached pointlessly up to his neck as if to stem the blood flow, but this wasn’t Bass’s first time. He could tell the guy was a goner. He pushed himself up from the ground and turned around to see Charlie with her hands furiously gripping Stabby’s arm as he held her tightly. Bass saw red and moved forward with the broken bottle. Stabby lived up to his name and brought the knife upwards in a quick stabbing motion with his free hand, but Bass danced gracefully out of his way. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted. 

“Can’t- breathe- “ Charlie grunted. Stabby grinned viciously. “I’m going to kill your bitch and then I’m going to kill you, Monroe.” Ugh. Bass was sick of his clichéd garbage. He feinted to the left towards Charlie, but then danced right, jabbing pointedly with the broken bottle, connecting with Stabby’s side. The man yelped in pain, and moved towards Bass with his knife outstretched. Bass felt a fresh wave of dizziness swim through his head. He glanced down and realised he was losing a fair bit of blood from the wounds on his chest. _Shit._ “Fuck you,” he grunted, and sidestepped.

Stabby made the same fatal mistake as his now dead friend Angry, and focussed his rage on Bass while ignoring the woman he held within his bent arm. Charlie took advantage of his stupidity. Bass watched as she executed a perfect shoulder slip. She took a step forward with her left foot, and then pivoted, sliding her right leg in between her body and Stabby’s until she was facing him, her head close to his chest. As he attempt to grab back at her in shock, she used his body as leverage to push herself off and away from him, towards Bass, who could feel himself starting to fade due to the blood loss. She leapt over to Bass, dragged his sword from the scabbard on his hip, and spun on her toes, using her momentum. Stabby’s face contorted as he realised what was about to happen, but he couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Charlie drove the sword convincingly into his chest. Bass blinked, and almost in tandem with Stabby’s body, dropped heavily to the ground.

Charlie drew the sword from Stabby’s chest and then turned around to see Bass on the ground.

“Monroe?” She shifted across to his body and bent over him. “Monroe!” He didn’t react. “Bass!” She yelled, and slapped him across the face, but he didn’t respond.

Suddenly, she heard a quiet voice from the other side of the wide country street. “Bring him here.” She glanced up to see an older woman standing at a gate to a small cottage, beckoning to her. “Let me help you."


	8. Saving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie deals to Bass's wounds, and makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I've finally managed to both write this new chapter as well as rework the last one, so I recommend you re-read the last one if you read it prior to 9/9/20 as the end is quite a bit different and you might get confused!
> 
> This is a bit of a shorter chapter, but I wanted to leave it there. Don't worry though, I hopefully won't leave the next update so long, as I have Chapter 9 already roughly planned out in my head.

Charlie stared down at the only man she had left in the world in pure panic. She had dragged him into the house while the stranger had run into the street to gather their things and bring them in as well. She was expecting people to swarm out of the bar any second, but then she realised someone was playing a guitar and singing inside, which must have muffled the sound of the fight. Between that and the kind stranger, she might actually be able to save Monroe, if she could just stop the damn bleeding from his wounds. She pressed down on his torso with an old towel the woman had passed her, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“You have to cauterise it,” the woman advised her. “And quickly. He’s losing too much blood.”

Charlie nodded. She had suspected as much. She had never had to do it herself, but she had seen Monroe do it for Miles once after a particularly nasty slice on his arm. It’s not like it was a difficult concept. Heat a metal blade, hold it to the wound until it seals. Easy, in concept.

Bass was lying on the floor in what appeared to be the lounge of the small cottage. She could see an open fireplace with a small fire crackling away, less than two metres from where Bass’s head lay. She glanced up at the woman, and said, “His sword, then.” The woman nodded, and grabbed it from where it lay propped against her pack, the blood from the third man still darkening the blade. “I’ll clean it off first,” she said firmly, and disappeared through the door. Charlie put her hand on Monroe’s cheek. “Wake up, you idiot,” she muttered desperately. “Don’t you dare leave me.” She was feeling much more sober than when she had left the bar, less than fifteen minutes before. She thought that maybe she had been allowing herself to feel more under the influence of the alcohol than she really had been. It was nice to feel relaxed, and calm; to flirt with an attractive man. Even if it was Ba- Monroe. She wasn’t sure what had come over her at the end. She was just so sick of feeling depressed and alone. Monroe was always there, of course, but sometimes it felt like they were two strangers just walking in the same direction. She missed the connection she had with the people she had lost. Charlie was never made to be a hermit. She didn’t want to be alone and she wasn’t good at it like him. She knew it was crazy, to throw herself at him like that. She wasn’t surprised he had been so horrified by the idea. Of course she was angry, but really she was just angry at herself for doing something so stupid.

“Here we go.” The woman came back in. “The blade is clean now and I sterilised it with some vodka I had sitting about. Have you done this before?”

“No,” Charlie admitted. “But I’ve seen it done. I can do it.”

“Okay, good,” the woman responded. and thrust the blade into the fire, holding it steadily against the coals. “I’ve never had the stomach for it myself.” She glanced over at Charlie. “He needs something to bite down on.”

Charlie winced and nodded. She glanced around and then down to the knife holster on her hip. It was soft leather, and would work well. She pulled it off her hip and then gently opened Monroe’s jaw and slipped the holster between his teeth. She hoped he would stay unconscious for the procedure but she didn’t trust his luck; it was usually terrible.

After a few minutes the blade was on the verge of glowing orange. “Ready?” the woman asked.

Charlie took a deep breath, and stared down at Monroe. “Yes. Let’s do this.” She looked back up and reached her hand out to take the sword. The woman withdrew it from the flickering flames and handed it over. “Quickly, while it’s still hot.”

Charlie nodded. She leaned over Monroe’s body, hovering the sword over the worst slash across his shoulder. Then she carefully and steadily pressed the flat side of the red hot blade onto the wound for no more than two seconds, lifting it up quickly and moving to the next one. It was as she pressed it down on this second wound that Monroe came to. Charlie knew this because he screamed in agony before clamping his mouth down on the leather holster. She refused to look at him, in case it caused her to lose her nerve. Instead, she moved the blade over to the final slash, and pressed it against him for the two seconds once more. He screamed again, a guttural noise, and she wished she could drown it out somehow, but she just had to focus on what she was doing.

She repeated the process with the quick bursts of the flat blade against his skin against she was sure that she had stopped the bleeding. He was panting uncontrollably and whimpering. Charlie finally looked up at his face and winced visibly at the way his confused ice-blue eyes darted about, his face drenched in sweat, his mouth trembling around the makeshift bite guard.

Their host stepped back through the doorway, and Charlie only then realised that the woman had stepped out while the cauterisation was taking place. She glanced up at the woman, who came a little closer to Bass and was now inspecting the wounds. “Good. That looks good,” the woman reassured her. Charlie saw that she had a bottle in her hand, half full of clear liquid. “We should clean the wounds with this, just to be safe. He won’t like this either though, you know.”

Charlie nodded quickly, feeling the tears impending at the edges of her eyes. She reached wordlessly for the bottle and poured it carefully onto each of the wounds. Monroe continued to gasp and whimper but she continued to ignore him as she worked.

Finally, it was done. There was nothing more she could do for him. Charlie looked back towards his face, seeing the tear streaks down his cheeks, his trembling lips, and found herself wishing she knew what to say to console him. She could only manage a quiet, “You’re done, Bass. It’s done,” before she leaned over and drew her holster out from his mouth, noting the deep tooth marks indented in the leather. He continued to breathe quickly and heavily; she took his hand and stroked it with her own in an attempt to soothe him. “You’re okay. You’re okay now,” she murmured. She watched as his breaths grew slower and deeper, his shaking subsided, and his eyelids grew heavy. His eyes remained fixed on her, until his eyelids settled over them in slumber.

When she was sure he was sleeping, Charlie withdrew her hand, and pushed herself up into a standing position. She realised the woman was not in the room with them, and went to find her. She stepped through the lounge door into a hallway, and listened. She could hear the clattering of dishes through a door at the end of the hall, and walked towards the noise. As she entered what was clearly the kitchen, the woman looked up. She was standing at the sink, washing a few dishes.

“Thank you,” Charlie said humbly. “You didn’t have to help us. It was so kind of you.”

The woman smiled, and stepped closer, drying her hands on a small towel she had picked up from the bench. “It’s okay. I’m Maria, by the way.”

“Charlie. And the guy in there is-“ she caught herself just in time. “Jimmy. Jimmy Baskins.”

Maria nodded. She was a slight woman, with a dark features and sun-weathered complexion; Charlie thought she looked a little like Nora might have, if Nora had gotten the chance to live to her sixties. Charlie was puzzled why this small older woman had gone out of her way to help them. She couldn’t help herself; she heard herself ask, “Why did you help us? I don’t understand.”

Maria gestured towards the table, and the two of them sat down. “I met those men a couple of nights ago. They have been here a couple of weeks, I think. They were not good men.” She blinked in memory. “I saw them standing outside, and then saw them grab you when you came out. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know what to do.” She fidgeted a little and then said, “You killed them.”

Charlie looked straight at her. “Yes. I did. But I promise you, I’m not a bad person.”

Maria gave her a small smile. “I understand, child. This is a different world now. A dangerous one for a beautiful girl like you.” Charlie saw a sadness cross her face, but she quickly gathered herself. “The man in there – Jimmy? I could see he wanted to help you. I’m glad you got away from them.”

“Did you hear what they were saying to us?” Charlie said nervously. She was worried Maria knew Monroe’s real identity.

“No,” Maria said. “My hearing isn’t perfect, anymore.” Charlie nodded nonchalantly, but she felt a wave of relief pass over her, and she sunk a little on her chair. Maria looked sharply at her. “You must be tired,” she said. “You need to sleep.”

Charlie couldn’t argue. All of sudden she was completely exhausted. All of the adrenaline that had been running through her veins since the minute the men had grabbed her outside the bar had suddenly faded away, and instead she felt as if every bone in her body was made of lead. “Yes, I think I do,” she said. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course, Charlie,” Maria said. “I have a spare bedroom across the hall.”

Charlie felt a small flush of red on her neck. “Um, actually-“

“You’d like to stay with him?”

“Yes,” Charlie admitted gratefully. “Just to be sure he’s okay.”

Maria nodded kindly. “It’s no problem. I definitely don’t think we should move him until the morning at least. Don’t worry though, the sofa in that room is quite comfortable. I’ll get you both a blanket and a pillow.” She got up and moved through to the other room. Charlie could hear her bustling about.

Charlie suddenly felt hot tears in her eyes, and couldn’t stop a couple of them leaking out onto her cheeks. This woman was so kind, like a mother. Not like her mother, of course. A small grin pulled at her mouth at the thought. Rachel was the least maternal mother there was. The grin dropped as she thought of Maggie. This woman was kind and caring like Maggie. It had been a long time since someone had mothered Charlie, a very long time indeed, and she felt rather overwhelmed by it. She heard Maria coming back through to the kitchen and scrubbed at her face quickly with her fists, to obscure the tears. Maria paused and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Here you go, Charlie dear.”

Charlie stood up abruptly, looking anywhere but at Maria, willing her tears to go away. She was mostly successful in the attempt. She took the bundle of blankets and pillows from Maria’s arms. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, Charlie. Please, try and sleep well. Your friend, Jimmy, he will be okay for tonight, I’m sure. But come get me if you are concerned.” Maria gave her a little pat on her arm, and smiled warmly at her. “Good night, child.”

Charlie nodded, and stepped into the hallway to make her way back to the lounge. She carefully propped Monroe’s head on one of the pillows, and lay a blanket over his lower half, but thought she was better to leave the wounds uncovered. She lay the other blanket and pillow on the sofa for herself, and quickly pulled off her jeans and undid her bra, pulling it out through her sleeve. Then she took one last look at Monroe to make sure he seemed okay, and glanced around the lounge to familiarise herself with the layout; then she moved about the room to blow out the candles that were providing the soft light she had worked by. 

In the darkness, she paused, and took comfort in listening to Monroe’s steady, if a little feverish, breathing. For the first time since he had been hit on the head with that bottle, she felt within herself that he would actually be okay. The thought trickled out of her head, through her arteries, soothing her stress with every heartbeat. She carefully stepped over to the sofa and got under the blanket. Maria was right; it was quite a comfortable sofa. She closed her eyes and hoped against hope that her sleep would be unmarred by nightmares; she offered up a silent prayer that Monroe’s sleep would be equally as peaceful. He would need a lot of rest.

\---

Charlie woke suddenly to the sound of a fist thumping on the door, and a man shouting, “Maria!” She glanced at the fire, and saw flames flickering; she can’t have been asleep long. She wasn’t sure what to do, but then she heard quick footsteps coming down the hallway. She heard the whispered words, “be quiet as you can,” as the older woman made her way to answer the knocking on her front door. Charlie flicked her eyes to the windows, concerned that people could see in, but she noted with relief that the curtains were heavy and oversized.

She heard the door creak open, and Maria’s quiet voice. “Yes, Carl?”

The man barked, “Maria. Good. Are you okay? Did you hear people fighting? In the last hour or so.”

Maria must have answered in the negative, although Charlie didn’t hear it, because Carl’s voice boomed out, “Really, Maria? Three men are dead, just over the road outside the bar.”

Charlie heard Maria respond, “Oh my Lord! What happened?”

The male voice dropped in volume as Carl explained. Charlie heard him mention a man and a woman, blonde. Three travellers who had arrived from the east. A bottle. Stab wounds.

Maria murmured something, and Charlie heard Carl respond, “Yeah I can’t believe you missed it either. Your hearing getting worse? Or were you asleep?”

The conversation continued, too muffled for Charlie to hear, but she guessed that Maria had convinced Carl she didn’t know anything, and felt her racing heartbeat begin to slow. She was surprised that Monroe slept through it all, but then he was recovering from a pretty traumatic experience.

A minute later, she heard the door close, and listened closely to the sound of Carl’s footsteps trudging down the path. The lounge door then squeaked open, and Maria gently stepped in. “Don’t worry, you’re okay. He didn’t suspect anything.”

“We’re not going to get you into trouble, are we?” Charlie said with concern.

“No, no,” Maria reassured her. “Carl sees himself as the law enforcement of our little town, but he’s harmless. I just think it’s best if we let this all blow over while Jimmy recovers a bit. You can both stay here, and leave when you’re ready.”

Charlie felt her eyes fill with tears again. “That’s so nice of you.”

Maria smiled warmly in response. “It’s my pleasure, I promise. It will be nice to have you here. It’s usually so quiet.” She glanced at Monroe, and looked pleased as she watched his chest rise and fall. “He is doing well. You should sleep too.”

“I will, I promise. Goodnight, Maria.”

“Goodnight.”

Charlie was asleep before Maria had even gotten back under her covers.


End file.
